The Walking Supernatural: A SPNWD Crossover
by daksgirl
Summary: The dead are walking the earth and Dean Winchester is having a very bad day. Note: This story will contain slash eventually of the Destiel variety. Rated mature for coarse language, violence and future sexy situations.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: The Walking Supernatural: A SPN/ Walking Dead crossover (1/16)  
**Author**: daksgirl  
**Rating**: NC-17  
**Genre**: Zombies! Crossover fic of Supernatural meets the Walking Dead.  
**Pairings:** Dean/Castiel overall none this chapter, brief mentions of Rick/Lori  
**Spoilers:** SPN up to end of Season 5 , goes AU after that. Takes place roughly in WD Season 2 Episode 2 and follows the plot pretty closely, so avoid if you don't want to be spoiled!  
**Warnings**: Violence, Decomposing corpses, Strong language, Adult situations  
**Word Count**: 3,996 this chapter (WIP)  
**Summary:** _AU from 5x22 Swan Song, kind of an alternate Season 6. Shameless abuse of two very awesome tv shows that I thought might work well together. _Zombies walk the earth and Dean Winchester is having a very bad day.

**A/N: **Oh god. This is my very first foray into writing for a fandom, and what do I do? I decided to write a fic involving TWO fandoms. WTF self. Way to start out small and improve. I already have some ideas planned out so might end up turning this into a verse of it's own because already my imagination has run away with me. That is if anyone actually finds this enjoyable! *facepalms* I plan to stick pretty close to the plot of The Walking Dead with the Winchesters thrown into the mix so will probably wait and see how the rest of the WD season goes and write accordingly, but I've already written a few more chapters. Please comment and even friend my journal if you like, like I said this is my very first fic (meep please be gentle) so let me know if you like it/ what I can improve etc! It's Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own. Oh and I don't own anything. Just playing yada yada.

...

The air was humid and close, echoing with the sounds of cicadas; a constant chorus that ebbed and flowed through the dry shifting grasses. It was the kind of place that reminded him of days long gone; long ago afternoons spent out in the sun playing in the grass, dirtying up his knees as he ran and tumbled and played. A glass of cold lemonade delivered by a lady with kind eyes, beads of condensation slowly forming and running down the side. Reminded him of a younger brother, laughing, and neither of them having a care in the world.

But those days were long gone, and Dean Winchester didn't have time for nostalgia.

"Dean come on…" Dean ignored the voice, shifting his duffle bag further up on his shoulder as he stalked forward. The contents clinked softly.

"_Dean_…" The voice continued, this time with a definite whine. Great. He could practically hear the puppy eyes his brother must be shooting at him, but he was NOT going to get off that easy.

He grunted and continued moving deeper into the fields. There were two of them; empty stretches of dry grass with no-one else around, flush green trees flanking the edges like a living fence. At one point in time this must have been a fertile place to make a living, but now...well now it hardly mattered anymore.

There was an annoyed huff behind him, and Dean finally turned his head slightly.

Sam was following behind, somehow managing, all 6 "4 of him, to look like someone had stolen his candy _and_kicked his puppy. His shoulders were hunched, and he looked at his brother with a sorrowful expression that could rival any bloodhound. His own duffel was hoisted on one shoulder with an arm curled protectively around it, his fingers pulling at some loose threads mindlessly. His hair was wild and disheveled, dark smudges forming under his eyes and dried blood smeared across one cheek. He looked like hell, and Dean felt a tiny bit of the all consuming rage that had fueled him for the past few miles, simmer down to a slight buzz.

Repressing the urge to sigh and roll his eyes, Dean slowed, turning to face his brother properly.

Goddammit Sam was actually _pouting._

Sam came to a halt and for a moment both brothers just stared at each other. A minute, two, then Sam finally conceded, his eyes darting away to stare forlornly at the surrounding grass. He gestured helplessly with one arm, the movement jerking his over-long hair into his eyes.

"Look I said I was sorry. What more do you want me to say?" He asked.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Oh I dunno Sam, how about a 'Sorry I got us into this mess,' or a 'Hey man it was really stupid of me to pull that' or even 'Hello my name is Sam the STUPID'." If possible, Sam's pout only increased in magnitude and even managed to take on an angry scowl. He lifted his eyes from where they had been studying the dying grasses to lock onto Dean's, their bitch-mode fully activated.

"First of all, you need better insults. Secondly, you are a GINORMOUS bitch, and thirdly…HOW is this my fault? I didn't put that walker in front of us, I didn't make the Impala skid into that damn truck and _hello_I wasn't the one driving! In fact YOU were driving, so if this is anyone's fault, it's YOURS."

Dean could feel a vein pulsing in his forehead, and the beginnings of a head ache from clenching his teeth together too hard.

"Whose idea was it to take that stupid case in South Carolina? Who thought getting out of the city was a good idea, who set that goddamn walker on fire in the first place and _who_ then shoved it into my baby by flailing like an idiot!" His voice was starting to reach a pitch he had thought only Sam capable of when particularly scandalized about something girly. _Couldthisdaygetanyworse?_

Sam dropped his eyes again and shrugged sullenly with one shoulder. "In my defense it was already on fire…"

"Fuck you Sam!"

"Look," Sam held his hand up in surrender. "This isn't helping. I'm sorry ok? I'm sorry we're stuck out here without the Impala. But you being pissed at me isn't helping things. We have to find shelter before dark. You know as well as I do Dean, that getting caught out in the open, _especially_at night is a death sentence. Who knows how many walkers are around here, and god knows what else."

Dean sullenly cast a glance towards the tree line. Dammit he was right. They didn't know these woods or territory at all. Any maps they had possessed had gone up with the Impala_.AndGoddidthathurttothinkabout_. Could be anything from a Wendigo to a grumpy bear living in there. Knowing their freaking luck recently, maybe a demonically possessed bear. And here they were with no real weapons, thanks to a shuffling corpse with an unhealthy love of fire. Dean exhaled roughly, shoulders slumping.

"Alright. I get it, I do. It's just….we can't catch a break you know?" He shrugged helplessly. "Just one more layer of bad on top of a shit sandwich. And lemmie tell you, I'm pretty damn tired of being force fed it." Sam's eyes softened and he moved forward to clap a supportive hand on his brother's shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Yeah. I know." Dropping his hand, he hoisted the duffle bag further up his shoulder, striding past his brother. "But hey look on the bright side, at least the world is still here for us to complain about." Dean snorted, falling into step slightly behind.

"Yeah if you can call this a world."

...

It had all started a few months ago.

They had finally found a way to put the devil back in his cage once and for all, and it hadn't involved saying yes, or a sacrifice, or anyone dying. What it had involved was a whole lot of chanting and Latin phrases that Dean could never hope to understand; along with a shit-tone of magical assistance from a few sullen, ancient witches whom Cas had apparently blackmailed into helping them (man they still gave him the heebie jeebies, he kept _far_ away from them fuck you very much). And they had done it. They had defeated the freaking _devil_. Lucifer was back in his cage, the angels had all fucked off back to heaven, sans one trench coated warrior, and everything was hunky dory. Status quo resumed and all that jazz.

At least…that's what they had thought.

They had been tracking an angry spirit out in South Carolina when Bobby had started hearing through the hunting chain of things happening.

It was in drips and drabs at first, a demon here, a skin walker there, but pretty soon it was happening all over. Demons and monsters were abandoning ship right left and center; leaving the country and skedaddling further North as fast as their little demon legs could take them. Dean hadn't believed it at first, until that group of them off Interstate 22. They were literally throwing themselves at the Winchesters and not even bothering to put up a fight, practically forming a line to get exorcised.

Creatures were hightailing it back to hell rather then stay around on earth, and that well..._.that_made him damn nervous.

A few weeks after that the shit really hit the fan. Dead people started coming back to life. Dean would have laughed, if it wasn't all so fucked up. Of all the things to happen, of all the things they faced, it was fucking _zombies._

Flashbacks of a very similar future he had witnessed danced before his eyes, and he had fearfully confided in Sam that maybe they hadn't really stopped anything at all. But this wasn't the Croatoan virus. These zombies were just that; zombies. Dead shambling corpses. They couldn't run, and though the fresher ones could move relatively quickly, it was nothing like the sprinting undead he had experienced in 2014.

On top of that Sam wasn't dead or possessed, Bobby was alive and kicking and Cas wasn't a drugged, orgy addict. It seemed stupidly easy at first to brush it off; heck it was only a few zombies here and there, and it wasn't like they were challenging to kill. But then they were _everywhere_. It wasn't Night, Day or Dawn of the Living Dead. It was _everysinglesecond_ of the living dead, and Dean bet George Romero was having a ball, the future-predicting bastard.

Cities started to overrun with the undead. People panicked and made things worse, creating bottlenecks of panicked mobs on the interstates where the infection of the undead spread through like wildfire. Reports came in of it happening in other countries, and any hopes that it was a small freak occurrence that had befallen select locations, was blown to pieces as the news broadcasted that it was happening _everywhere._ All over the world, from Nepal to Nebraska, zombies swarmed and killed and fed.

They had managed to divert one apocalypse but then suddenly found themselves slap bang in another one, and the Winchesters were pretty pissed about it. It was like, we just saved you goddammit, can't you stay out of trouble for one freaking minute?

Castiel had been barred from heaven by a pretty irrate Raphael, (who apparently was still sore about the whole holy oil thing), but even he knew that the angels didn't have anything to do with it. There was no hint of magic or anything supernatural around the zombies, just a horrible feeling of _wrongness_. Like this wasn't supposed to happen and even the supernatural creatures were freaked by it. Castiel had vowed to look into it further, and had flapped away to some dark corner of the earth. Last they had heard he had been in Russia investigating a potential lead, but shortly after that all the phones went dead, along with the power grid, and pretty much every other luxury known to man.

That had been nearly three weeks ago.

The Winchesters had been trying to make their way to Bobby's when they had hit a road block. Goddamn military had swash-buckled in, over-arrogant they could control the situation and the two brothers had been stuck in a small town just north of the Georgia/North Carolina border. Of course everything went to hell as it inevitably always did when the Winchesters were involved, and it was through sheer dumb luck they had managed to not only get themselves out when the military defenses failed, but also save a chunk of the population while they were at it.

It felt good, saving people again.

They had been invited to stay with the survivors who were moving north, headed for the cooler climate of Canada and beyond, where populations were smaller and terrain harder to travel for the undead masses. It was a good solid plan, and they would have been willing to try it if it weren't for the small fact that they apparently weren't done with being big damn heroes. If they were going to try and figure this out and save the world (again), then they had to get to Bobby's. The old crotchety bastard was family, and if that damn angel of theirs had any sense he would have immediately headed back to Casa de Singer the moment the shit hit the fan. Bobby's house was their goal, and they were going to get there. Zombies be damned.

They had been trying to keep to the smaller back roads, but they turned out to be worse than the main highways; panicked people trying to get anywhere but wherever they were. Empty cars littered the roads, twisted metal and spilt gasoline a very real fire hazard and random items just abandoned where they were dropped, strewn haphazardly across all lanes. It made travelling in the car difficult, but it was better then by foot. John Winchester had taught his sons well, and the brothers used their combined hunting knowledge to siphon gas, gather supplies and hell just _survive._

They had finally made it into Georgia a few days ago after having to abandon South Carolina. The roads were too jammed full of abandoned cars and the undead. They had been making good time until this morning. This morning when they had lost the only home they had ever known, thanks to a stupid abandoned truck, a fat zombie, _onfire_, and no luck whatsoever.

...

Dean had decided, he _hated_ Georgia. The forest they were now trudging through was nice enough, alternating between lush green and prickly bushes; here and there a bright burst of color as flowers attempt to break through the dense foliage. Dead leaves crunched underfoot, cicadas hummed peacefully, birds chirped in the trees and the sun winked at them from a blue sky with no cloud in sight. It was glorious really. But the goddamn_heat_….

"I'm sticky in places I didn't even know I had." He grimaced. Sam rolled his eyes, huffing.

"Gross Dean. I was trying NOT to think about it." They had abandoned their usual flannel shirts and coats for simple tees, but even wearing the thinner cotton hadn't helped, and both men were sweltering. Dean shifted uncomfortably, trying to pull the sodden material away from his skin. He could feel the warm damp line of sweat trickling down his back as he attempted to air the hot skin underneath the strap of his duffle.

"Next time, let's get stranded in Alaska. Somewhere cold. Not the south." He grumbled.

Sam snorted, shaking his head. "No arguing here."

The shadows were beginning to lengthen, and as they trudged deeper into the forest the air began to thin and take on a slight chill.

Sam cast an anxious glance at the surrounding trees, hand straying towards the knife sheathed on his belt. The only weapons they had managed to get in the mad scramble from the Impala were what were already in their duffels; a few knives, two pistols and one sawed off shotgun. They had already used most of the ammo trying to escape from the highway, where it seemed the zombies liked to swarm along the shimmering asphalt. Gunshots only attracted more of the shambling horrors, so they had stowed the guns away in the bottom of Sam's duffle. Instead they opted for the knives and kept them close. It wasn't ideal having only short-range weapons, but it was better then nothing.

Dean stopped suddenly, Sam smacking into the back of him with a loud oof. He rubbed his nose where it had collided with the back of his brother's head, scowling.

"Dude what the hell-" They both heard it then, the familiar wet snuffling sounds of something was definitely not human.

There was a slight ridge in front of them, a big enough hill to hide any sort of creature, and they waited, hearts pounding, ears straining to pinpoint the sound. Nothing burst out at them, and after a moment of heavy breathing and listening they realized it was coming from a fixed direction and didn't seem to be moving.

Dean jerked his head in the direction of the noise, and Sam nodded tersely, slipping the knife free from it's sheath at his waist. Crouching low to the ground, they moved forward as one with practiced ease, the slight rustling of leaves the only indicator of their presence. As they crested the slight ridge and took in the scene before them, they paused, throwing each other a glance that clearly said: _Whatthehellisgoingonhere?_

Someone had been camping. A sturdy tent had been erected between two trees, a cooking pit directly in front of it and a few fold away chairs, haphazardly strewn around, lay on their sides nearby. Dean breathed out a slight whistle.

"Oh man. That is fucked up." Nearby, up a slightly taller tree, was the source of the snuffling. A heavy man dangled from a thick branch, a tight cord of rope digging into the swollen black flesh of his neck.

He had been dead a while.

The zombie noticed the two as they approached and started up its snuffling wheezing, hands jerking towards them. The mouth opened and closed; its tongue shiny and black, swollen with rot and insects.

Sam was the first to approach the thing, and stared at it with curious horror. "What..." Dean wrinkled his nose in disgust as the sickly smell of decomposition thickened the air, shifting the duffle bag to his other arm.

"Stupid son of a bitch tried to hang himself." Sam leaned forward, reading something on a small piece of paper nailed to the tree.

"Check this out: "Got bit, fever hit, world gone to shit, might as well quit."" Sam snorted. "Now if that isn't the best suicide note I've ever seen."

Dean chuckled lightly, but his stomach twisted as he watched the creature jerk and dangle. "Shakespear he aint."

The camper had obviously tried to kill himself before he turned; not fully comprehending that he'd turn anyways. Dean studied the thrashing corpse as it growled and slobbered; rotting arms reaching for him whilst the creature strained against the rope. The bony nubs of what was left of its fingers clutched the air, one rotten enough to come loose, falling to the ground.

Dean grimaced and moved a little further away. Sam, the gigantic freak, was fascinated by the morbid spectacle, and had even grabbed a dead branch to poke the dangling thing's legs. They were a mess of gleaming bone and putrid muscle, several sinuous fibers coming lose at Sam's prodding.

"Looks like other zombies came and used him as a dangling buffet," Sam's face was grim. "Stripped the flesh off his legs." Dean made a face, shaking his head in revulsion.

"Dude. TMI." Sam rolled his eyes, dropping the branch and wiping his hands absently on his thighs.

"Come on, there's nothing we can do now." A gunshot would only draw unwanted attention, and the thing was too high to reach with any knives. He'd just have to stay there, as distasteful as it was. Dean tried to imagine what it would be like, dangling from a tree, doomed to never break free and never die, stuck like that for all of eternity. He suppressed a shudder. _Whatawaytogo._

A quick search of the campsite didn't reveal anything useful; only a few discarded empty beer cans. There was a cooler, but the food inside it had long since decomposed, and a swarm of ants had staked their claim on it. An old rusty 4x4 truck was slowly being reclaimed by nature, and the vehicle was in too sorry a state to really consider attempting to drive. The doors hung off it at jagged angles and Dean stared at it for a moment, idly wondering what could have done that before deciding he didn't want to know.

"Hey." Sam said suddenly, pointing a little ways away from the tent. "Looks like our friend the poet left us a trail to follow. He must have driven up here from a road or something. If we follow the wheel tracks we might find somewhere or something to shelter in."

Sure enough, the faint imprints of a 4x4 were dented into the long grass. It must have been a few weeks since the poor bastard had come up here, but the tracks were still good. Dean grinned.

"About time for some good news. Lead on McDuff."

...

Rick Grimes looked out over the quiet field from his spot by the window. Outside, evening had descended over the farm, and the last few rays of the sun could just be seen stretching across the horizon behind the line of trees. The air was cooler, less close than during the day and someone had started a small fire in the middle of their makeshift camp, a few yards from the main house.

The flames cast small flickering shadows across the hulking bulk of the RV, and Rick spared a slight smile for what had been their home for almost a month. Dale was reclining on the roof, eyes scanning the fields and trees for any sign of danger. A shotgun was clasped loosely in his hands across his lap, hat jammed low on his head. Rick watched the others moving around the fire, and heard a slight laugh filter through the air to him. Sounded like someone had finally managed to get Carol to smile.

He sighed heavily as he felt delicate hands press against his sides, then slide under his shirt. A feminine body pressed up along his back, and he closed his eyes, relishing the familiar feel of Lori against him. The thrumming of insects washed over him and for a moment he could pretend the world wasn't ending. He could pretend it was all a bad dream and he'd wake up to a normal world where he could go to work, sit in the car with Shane laughing about old girlfriends and eating greasy burgers from Joe's across the street. He'd come home in the evening to an excited Carl telling him about his day, a hot meal on the table and Lori making those eyes at him that promised he wouldn't get too much sleep that night. God if only-

"Carl's sleeping." Her voice was quiet; her breath warm against his ear, but it was enough to break the calm spell he had managed to lull himself into. Rick opened his eyes, breathing a sigh.

"Spoke t' Shane today." He murmured. Lori was silent, running her fingers gently over the muscles of his stomach that twitched and jerked in response.

"About what?" Her voice was carefully neutral. Rick shook his head slightly, squeezing the hands that had stilled on his stomach. Her hands had always felt so small compared to his work-worn ones. He ran the pad of a finger over her delicate knuckles.

"She's been missing for close to 4 days now Lori. We been searchin' and searchin' and all we find is more trouble. Someone's gonna get bit, or fall down a hill and break somethin'…." He trailed off, focusing on the flickering fire of the campsite, choosing his words carefully.

"Shane thinks we've done enough. Gotta start thinking about what's best for us, the group, for…for _Carl_…" Gentle hands turned him to face his wife.

Lori searched his eyes carefully, hands sliding to hold her husband's face. His eyes were moist, and gently she brushed her fingers along his cheek.

"What if it wasn't Sophia? What if it was our _son_out there in those woods all alone? Would you give up on him Rick?" He didn't need to say it; she could read the unspoken devastation in his eyes.

She slowly pulled away, hands dropping to her sides. She felt so tired.

"I thought I had lost Carl when I saw him on that bed in there. I thought, this is it, it's all over." She looked away, jaw clenched. "The walkers aren't hell Rick, not really." She looked back at him, eyes hard. "Losing your child is the real hell. And I won't be the one to go and tell Carol we're giving up on her daughter. Not now, not ever."

She turned, looking back through the doorway where Carl lay sleeping. "You tell Shane that." Rick remained silent, watching her as she walked towards the door. She paused in the doorway, head tilted but not looking back at him.

"In the morning, we'll try again. Set up a grid on that map Hershel mentioned. And we'll comb this god-forsaken land one inch at a time until we find her. _Then_ we can talk about the good of the group."


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: The Walking Supernatural (2/16)  
**Author**: daksgirl  
**Rating**: NC-17  
**Genre**: Zombies! Crossover fic of Supernatural meets the Walking Dead.  
**Pairings:** Dean/Castiel eventually  
**Spoilers:** SPN up to end of Season 5 , goes AU after that. Takes place roughly in WD Season 2 Episode 2 and follows the plot pretty closely, so avoid if you don't want to be spoiled!  
**Warnings**: Violence, Decomposing corpses, Strong language, Adult situations  
**Word Count**: 3,984 this chapter (WIP)  
**Summary:** _AU from 5x22 Swan Song, kind of an alternate Season 6. Shameless abuse of two very awesome tv shows that I thought might work well together. _Zombies walk the earth and Dean Winchester is having a very bad day.

...

The sun had already slipped beneath the horizon by the time they finally found what they were looking for. The faint wheel tracks had led them to a dirt track, dusty and overgrown with weeds. An old farmhouse that had seen better days loomed in front of them, old shutters creaking in the cool night breeze. Sam stopped on the trail, boots kicking up dirt, and shot his brother a grin.

"I'll take all your praise and admiration now." He said smugly, earning himself a playful shove.

"Careful Sam, your neck has to support that massive ego you know."

The house was old and falling apart. No doubt at one time it had been the home of many generations of some by-gone family who enjoyed living off the land, but now lay abandoned. It squatted forlornly amidst over grown shrubs and trees, ivy trailing up the walls unchecked. Splintering wooden boards had been haphazardly nailed across a few of the windows and the front door. Cornflower-blue tattered curtains winked at them from one of the lower windows, peeking out from the yawning darkness beyond.

Dean smirked, elbowing his brother lightly in the ribs. "Kind of looks like a place crawling with hillbilly cannibals."

The bitchface Sam aimed his way was one of his more epic attempts.

There were no signs of anyone or anything, but they approached the porch cautiously. A lifetime of hunting had taught them never to assume anything, and a house that _looked_ quiet could become, in a very short amount of time, a literal hell hole.

After a quick investigation of the front porch, they found the front door nailed shut. Boards had been tacked across the frame, and an old yellowed paper had been pinned over them. It probably had labeled the house vacated and ready for demolition, but the elements had wiped away any distinguishable writing.

A short trek around the back of the house revealed an easy point of access; the boards across the back door had rotted and fallen away. One kick from Gigantor's sizable foot dislodged the rest of the nails, and the door slammed open in a cloud of wooden shards and dust. Sam coughed, stifling a sneeze as the dust filled his nose, before moving inside first.

Dean cast a glance around the still quiet yard. The moonlight provided amble light, casting a yellow glow over the sprawling grasses and shrubs. The old rusted out frame of a car sat in the middle of the yard, and even _he_ had trouble placing the make and model from what was left of it. Satisfied the area was as safe as it could be considering, he turned and followed Sam inside.

The interior was no better than the neglected outside. Wooden floorboards groaned underfoot as the two padded forward, boots sounding absurdly loud in the dusty air. Dean slid his knife free of its sheath as he checked the first room to the left.

A kitchen that looked like it had been designed in the '40s gleamed dully back at him; a layer of sticky dust coating everything. A small kitchen table was pushed against one wall, two rickety old wicker chairs flanking it. A dried yellowed old newspaper sat on top of the table, the edges shredded by some long-gone rodent. The headline was still legible though, and glared up at him in bold black.

**REAGAN**** RECOVERS**** FROM**** ASSASINATION**** ATTEMPT.** He whistled.

"Don't think anyone has been here for a while." A quick look in the cupboards and pantry revealed some canned goods long out of date, and rows of dusty plates and cutlery. The amount of dust tickled his nose and he rubbed it furiously, eyes suddenly watering.

The place smelled like mildew and rotting wood, but it would do for the night. He found Sam in the living room, staring thoughtfully at the couch and armchairs. Absurdly, they had been carefully covered with yellowed dust protectors.

"Dunno about cannibalistic hillbillies," Sam remarked, gesturing to the couch. "But I'm getting a pretty strong Norman Bates feeling."

Dean shrugged, heading back to the hallway and towards the rickety old stairs leading to an upper level.

"No worse than some of the motels we've stayed at. In fact-" Dean grimaced as he grabbed the banister; coating his hand in yet more caked on dust. "I think this place is actually nicer."

There were three rooms upstairs; two bedrooms and small bathroom. Small creatures scurried in the walls as the brothers explored, insects darting for cover away from their heavy boots. Whoever this house had belonged to had vacated it a long time ago, and zombies hadn't played a part.

They settled in the larger of the two bedrooms. A massive wooden bed frame took up the majority of the room, a bare musty smelling mattress leaning precariously half off it. Rodents had chewed out some of the stuffing and spread the cotton around the floor, but it was still useable. Pushed against the far wall was a short wooden bureau, a dull mirror slung crookedly above it. Next to the bureau sat a pair of bookcases displaying dusty tomes on cooking, fishing and gardening. A matching desk was tucked along the opposite wall, its surface overflowing with yellowed decomposing paperwork. A broken lamp laid on its side, next to that a coffee mug, from which several pens jutted.

Deliberately ignoring the blurred image of his reflection in the mirror, Sam crossed the room and began to rifle through the bureau. Dean watched him for a moment, before noticing the dark brown frame on the wall. A family, framed in glass, smiled down at them, watching their actions with eternally frozen stares. An all-American family by the looks of it: husband, wife, and two kids-a boy and a girl. A snapshot of a world that just didn't exist anymore.

His jaw clenched and he looked away, suddenly finding their frozen stares too much.

Sam had reached the bottom drawer. He slid it open and grinned triumphantly at the sound of something heavy rolling with the movement.

"Bingo!" He reached into the drawer and pulled out a revolver. "God bless the country."

Dean was tempted to bite out something about God apparently running out of blessings to give, considering how absent He had been, but managed to stop himself. Their situation was bad enough that he didn't have to go running his mouth and tempting fate.

There was no extra ammo, but the revolver's chamber was full. Six bullets gleamed at them from their snug confines as Sam spun it open with practiced ease.

"A lot better than what we've got." He stowed it with the other guns in the duffel, glancing over them briefly to assess their arsenal. They had both agreed, no guns unless absolutely necessary. The zombies liked to move in packs, and would come swarming at the sound of something as loud as a gun-shot.

The other drawers had held some old work clothes, a pair of old Levi's and a few musty smelling plaid shirts. Laundromats were hard to come by these days, and already they'd been wearing the same shirts for close to four days. Musty old shirts were better than pungent sweat soaked ones.

One of the shirts actually fit Sam's gorilla arms, and stripping free of his soiled t-shirt, he slipped into it, wriggling his fingers in delight.

"Never thought I'd be so happy to put on a shirt."

The other shirts were a bit smaller and fit Dean just fine. He followed his brother's example, shedding his ripe t-shirt in exchange for a dry long sleeved plaid work shirt. A name was embroidered on the left pocket, cheerfully proclaiming Dean's new name to be 'Jacob'.

He threw a glance back at the family photo. "Thanks Jacob." He murmured.

They ended up dragging the old broken mattress over to the one window of the room. The boards had come away easily and the window provided a clear advantage point of the yard at the front of the house. The dirt road lay beyond that, and after _that_….nothing but dark forest.

They sat side by side on the mattress, both leaning their forearms against the window sill and watching the yard below. The night breeze carried the scent of the forest; a damp green smell that was a welcome relief after inhaling dust for the better part of the night. Somewhere in the forest a whippoorwill called, its lonely call echoing through the trees.

Sam had propped his chin on his arms, staring outside. His face looked almost boyish in the light the moon provided, but it was the dark circles under his eyes that made Dean want to just wrap him in his arms like he had when they were kids; promising impossible things like, _I__'__ll__ protect__ you __Sammy_, _no-one__'__s__ ever__ going __to__ hurt__ you,__ we__'__ll__ be__ ok_.

Of course, Sam went and ruined the moment. His teeth were white in the dim light as he smiled, huffing a small laugh.

"You know, old ladies say the call of the whippoorwill signals the death of a loved one." Dean glared at him.

"Not funny Sam."

Sam shifted again, re-arranging his long legs into a more comfortable position. His fingers twitched nervously, plucking at imaginary threads on the arms of his new shirt.

"I really am sorry about the Impala man. She was my home too." He said quietly.

Dean flinched slightly. He could still see the flames licking across the shining black sides of the car as Sam pulled him away; the smell of burning metal and plastic filling his nose as he watched the only constant in his life disappearing the way everything else had. He closed his eyes briefly, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat.

"It's alright. At the end of the day….she's just a car." He almost choked on the words. "We got out alive and that's all that counts."

Sam was staring at him like he had grown a second head, and Dean scowled at him, pointing at his younger brother angrily.

"But we're going back for her! Once we get this mess straightened out, we'll go back to that stupid highway and get my baby back."

Sam's look of horror dissolved into an affectionate grin. "There he is. Thought for a moment you had lost it."

Dean grunted, turning back to the silent yard. "Are we finished now? Or is your vagina still tingling with _feelings_?"

The shove nearly sent him sprawling over the dusty floor, but his brother's eyes were playful, and Dean's heart clenched. It was moments like this that made it all bearable. Sammy smiling again, joking and teasing (even at Dean's expense), made him feel like they could do it, no matter what came their way.

They defeated the devil. They'll defeat whatever the fuck this is too.

"Ha freaking ha. Bite me jerk." Dean grinned easily back.

"Ladies first bitch."

It could have been enough, this moment. They could survive, just the two of them, fight against every bad son-of-a-bitch the world wanted to throw at them, and there was a time when that was all he had ever wanted. Sam and Dean on the road, kicking ass and taking names. But now…now there was an absence in the small room.

It lacked a certain trench coat-wearing angel to glare disapprovingly at them and bitch about taking things seriously, then do that ridiculous head tilt of his when Dean turned his playful energy on him. It lacked talking about misunderstood references, Sam throwing up his hands in girly offence that Dean could ever treat a warrior of God that way, it lacked…

It lacked the rest of his little broken family.

Sam seemed to read the way his eyes went distant, and he straightened.

"I'm sure they're ok Dean. Bobby is…well Bobby. Zombies will be a piece of cake compared to what he's used to. And Cas…" Sam snorted. "Well Cas is a badass mofo and an angel to boot. We'll get to them Dean, it'll just take a bit longer." Dean nodded, smiling appreciatively back at his brother. Trust Sam to know exactly what he was thinking.

"Yeah. Yeah I know."

...

Sleep didn't come easily. It flirted on the outskirts of his mind, but always stayed just out of reach, and Dean found himself counting the cobwebs in the ceiling corners for entertainment. The adrenaline of the morning and subsequent hiking trip through the forest had worn off, leaving him aching and tired, but no matter how much he tried to close his eyes and drift off, his brain stubbornly kept him awake. Sam was probably right. Worrying like some overgrown mother hen wasn't helping; both Bobby and Cas were veterans of weird shit long before zombies started roaming around.

He rolled over, frowning at himself. So why couldn't he just turn off? Glimpses of the horrific future Zachariah had subjected him to flit through his mind. An empty wheelchair riddled with bullet holes. Himself, a hardened asshole who couldn't feel anything any more and Castiel…_Quit__it._ Goddamn, maybe Sam wasn't the only one born with girly parts. Or it was catching. _Sam__cooties._Speaking of which…

The sasquatch was fast asleep, limbs sprawled loosely, mouth hanging open and snoring. He had braved the old dusty mattress, and after a lot of bitching about rusty springs digging into delicate Samantha lady parts, he had fallen asleep relatively quickly.

_Lucky__ bitch_.

Dean had opted for the floor, padded by some old blankets found in a closet down the hall, not wanting to chance getting kicked in the ribs by a sleeping Sam. The jerk practically took up the whole thing with his freakishly large body.

Sam snuffled something in his sleep, rolling over and sticking one foot out off the mattress. Dean wondered idly if any of the pens still worked on the desk, and just how pissed Sam would be to wake up to a drawn on mustache-

A scream ripped through the quiet room and Sam jolted awake with a gasp, ancient springs creaking in protest as he rolled toward the window. Dean bolted from his spot on the floor, all thoughts of childish pranks forgotten. He was beside Sam in an instant peering through the blackness out the window.

"We got company." He said grimly. Sam sighed heavily, pushing the hair out of his eyes.

"Great."

A girl not more than 8 or 9 had spilled onto the lawn in a flurry of limbs. She struggled up, and even from the top floor of the house the brothers could hear her ragged breath, punctured by gut-wrenching sobs. Her hair was disheveled and her face covered in dirt and tears.

She threw a frightened glance behind her and screamed again, stumbling towards the house and the relative safety of the porch.

Sam cursed, turning away from the window to scrub at his face with a hand.

"Let's think about this-"

But Dean was already at the duffle bags, pulling out a knife. He cast a glance at Sam's duffle and paused for a moment, before throwing out a curse. Diving through the clothing, his fingers closed around the cold metal of the barrel of the revolver. Wrenching it free, he hastily tucked it down the back of his waistband. _Just __in__ case._

"Sam we don't have time! They're practically here already."

"Dean wait!" But he was already gone, charging off to be the big damn hero as always. Sam swore, taking off after him.

There were five of them. He had exited through the backdoor, knife grasped in front of him, back pressed to the splintering slats of the house as he silently circled to the front of the house. Dean chanced a look around the corner; the girl had made it to the porch and was pounding a small fist on the door, sobbing.

"Please! Somebody, help me!" She whirled around and screamed again as the first zombie reached the stairs.

It had been a woman in another life, though it was hard to tell by the state of it. What clothes left on it were discolored and stained with died bodily fluids; jagged holes of weeping flesh could be glimpsed festering through the threadbare tatters of what could have been a blouse. A black shriveled eyeball dangled from its socket, swinging in time with the zombies shuffling gait as it reached for the girl, a longing groan of victory almost drowning out the girl's sobs.

"_**Hey!**_ Fugly!"

The zombie cocked a head at the new voice, and Dean pointed at it, moving around the side of the house into full view. The other zombies set up a collected groan as they noticed the new prey, and two altered course to amble towards him. The front door splintered from a blow from inside, and Dean caught a glimpse of Sam's glorious hair as he leant through the destroyed door to grab the girl. _Good__ going__ Sammy._ He saw her struggle briefly before disappearing out of reach of the disgruntled zombie.

Dean's attention was drawn back to his own predicament. _Right,__ zombies._ Two had broken away from the others and approached him, zeroing in on the promise of warm flesh. He brandished the knife in front of him, teeth bared in a snarl. The trick was to out-maneuver them, get them to the ground then knife them in the brain. It was a strategy that had worked so far.

The first made a pretty pathetic attempt to lunge at him, and Dean easily brought the creature down to the ground with a smart tap of his fist. The knife plunged through its skull, and he grimaced as a spray of decaying brain matter coated his fist.

Yanking the knife free, he spun on his heel to face the other, who was quicker then her friend, lunging under the fist he threw at her. Bony fingers coiled around his wrist, tugging his arm towards the gaping hole that had been its mouth. Dean yanked his arm away and the creature's teeth snapped together with a dull click. The knife went flying from his grasp, landing a few feet away. Cursing he tried to reach it, but the zombie slammed into the side of him again, causing him to stumble.

The zombie lunged again, more determined this time, and Dean slammed his palm into its chest as he turned to face it, holding the gaping maw away from him. Its skin was cold and moist, and his fingers sank beneath the surface of the thing's chest as he struggled with it. Black blood welled through his fingers, and he pulled away with a cry of disgust.

"Oh GROSS!"

The loss of pressure holding it back caused the creature to topple over, face smacking the ground with a sick thud, and several yellowed teeth fell out.

Not to be defeated, its bony fingers scrabbled at his boots, and it groaned hoarsely at him, rearing its head up and eyeing him hungrily from rheumy leaking eyes.

"Oh no you don't bitch." He snarled. "No Dean on this menu!" With a grunt he brought his boot down hard on the creature's head, once, twice and then a final third time. The smell of decomposition made him turn away coughing, but the thing was dead. Deader. Now it laid still, the remains of its ruined head oozing thickly through the grass, shiny and black.

Sam had dispatched the three trying to get in the house, and Dean tried not to feel too competitive over the fact that his brother had managed to kill more zombies than him. They were lucky, with only the meager assortment of weapons they had, a group any larger than that would have been impossible to finish off between the two of them.

Once they gotten the girl to calm down, she haltingly told them about the group she had been travelling with. A group of survivors, theirs was a pretty interesting tale. They had been driving on the same stretch of road the Impala had made her last stand upon, and their caravan of vehicles had been stopped by the sheer amount of abandoned cars. Deciding to scout for supplies, the whole group had been surprised by a large herd of the undead moving through. The girl, Sophia as she haltingly introduced herself, had gotten separated when a zombie had found her and she had run into the forest.

"Mr. Grimes told me to stay and I tried, I really did, but I was so scared and there was another one so I just ran, and ran, and ran..." She started crying again, clutching the blanket Sam had found for her tighter around herself. "I'll never see my mom again-"

Dean hushed her gently, shooting a look at Sam. His brother nodded back, eyes conveying what Dean was already thinking. Alright then. He reached out his hand, brushing the girl's dirty blonde hair out of her eyes.

"Course you will. Me and Sam will help you find them. We're lookin' for a safe place too, so we'll just do that together yeah?" Sophia gave a little nod, managing a watery smile, whilst wiping her tears and sniffling.

"Okay."

Sam had moved back to the window, scanning the area for anymore of the undead, but the woods were quiet again. There wouldn't be much sleep for them now; adrenaline was still buzzing through their systems. Sophia however looked about ready to pass out on the spot, and Dean felt a surge of admiration for the girl. Only 8 and she had survived almost 4 days out in the woods on her own with those things after her.

"Get some sleep kid. Sam and I will keep watch, so don't you worry about anything happening."

The girl sniffled. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been here. I…I don't…" She shrugged helplessly. "Thank you."

Dean settled her down on the mattress Sam had been occupying only half an hour ago, tucking the blanket more securely around her. Sam shot him a bemused look but Dean ignored him. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was look after kids.

She fell asleep almost instantly, obviously exhausted. Dean watched her for a moment, before joining Sam by the window.

"What do you think?" He kept his voice pitched low. "Her group might still be by the highway?"

Sam shook his head slowly. "It's packed with zombies. If they had any sense they got off the road. Probably somewhere in the forest camping out."

Dean frowned. "Gonna be hard to find them, not a whole lot of high ground to get a good vantage point and a whole lotta trees."

The girl moaned something in her sleep and the two men stopped, looking over at her. She settled down after a moment, small chest rising and falling under the thin blanket.

"One thing is for sure," Sam continued in a low voice, "This can't be the only house around here. Those fields we wandered through today were old wheat fields. There's got to be a farm somewhere around here."

Dean nodded. "That camper back there obviously knew this place, I bet you anything he was from around these parts and drove out to a secluded spot to do the deed."

Sam ran a hand through his long hair, a nervous tick he had never grown out of. "So if we follow the dirt road away from the way we hiked in here, we might have a greater chance of running into them. Worse comes to worse and there's nothing there, we come back here and work out a better plan."

Dean moved away from the window, settling back down on the wooden floor.

"Let's just hope it's the survivors we run into."

...


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: The Walking Supernatural (3/16)  
**Author**: daksgirl  
**Rating**: Teen (this chapter)  
**Genre**: Zombies! Crossover fic of Supernatural meets the Walking Dead.  
**Spoilers:** WD: S02E04 I actually used some of the dialog from the episode so here be spoilers.  
**Warnings**: Violence, Decomposing corpses, Strong language, Adult situations  
**Word Count**: 1, 816 this chapter (WIP)  
**Summary:** Hershel tries to gives advice that Rick really doesn't want to hear, and the others deal with a fishy problem.

**A/N **Wow thank you guys for reading! I'm surprised this story is getting so many hits and I'm really grateful for the reviews. You've pushed me to write even more, so here's another chapter! (3 chapters in 3 days? Woah self). I borrowed some actual dialog from S02E04 of the Walking Dead so that's not mine; it just helped set the scenes. Shorter chapter this time cause next one's going to be long.

...

There was a walker in the well.

The sun shone down on the small group, baking the back of their necks and exposed shoulders. In the distance, shimmering air seemed to float above the golden fields, and the constant chorus of the cicadas buzzed around them. The well yawned in front of them, cool damp air rising from it; a stark contrast to the blistering heat around them. Splashing could be heard within it, accompanied by a gurgling, and the group stared down at the monstrosity that had managed to ruin their day.

How it had gotten in there was a mystery. The wooden slats covering the well should have been enough to prevent it from falling in, but there it was anyways. Grotesque and swollen, water sloshed around its chest as it drunkenly turned in the enclosed space. There were no distinguishable features of its face; the flesh had swollen with rot and decay and now resembled the Pillsbury doughboy more than a human face. It occasionally grabbed for the walls; swollen hands scrabbling at the old stone with blackened fingernails.

Dale aimed the flashlight at it and it turned its face towards the light, jerking its arms towards him, dead fingers twitching.

"Looks like we've got us a swimmer." He grimaced, promptly turning the flashlight off.

After a while of staring up at them, the zombie lost interest and went back to clawing at the wall.

Glenn peered over the edge at it, wrinkling his nose. "How long do you think he's been down there?"

Andrea snorted. "Long enough to grow gills."

Lori threw her hands up in frustration. "We can't leave it in there. God knows what it's doing to the water." There were murmured agreements.

"We could put a bullet in its head." T-dog suggested.

Maggie shook her head, taking her cowboy hat off long enough to run a hand through her greasy hair. "Woah guys no. Daddy don't much like any shootin' goin' on round he-"

"Why not? Glenn interrupted. "It's a good plan." The cowgirl glared at him, and Glenn offered an apologetic smile. "I mean…it makes sense." Maggie relaxed slightly.

Andrea sighed. "It's a stupid plan. If it hasn't already contaminated the water, then blowing its brains out will finish the job."

The group was silent for a beat, all watching the swollen horror slosh around in the dark.

"So it has to come out alive."

Andrea turned to Lori, mouth drawn in a frown. "How do we do that? Wouldn't we need bait or something?"

Slowly, the two women looked towards the smallest and most limber of the group. Glenn noticed their questioning eyes and took a step back, hands held up in front of him.

"Oh no. Oh _hell_ no. No, no, no and NO."

T-dog grunted, wiping sweat from his forehead with the bandage on his arm. The large man was recovering from his bite, but it would be a while before he was fully healthy again. His skin was still tinged grey, even under the glare of the sun.

"It won't work anyways. Look at it; its bleeding and slobbering all over the place. Aint no-one here who'll risk drinkin' that water now."

Dale sighed, shaking his head.

"You're right. Trying to hook it out would just endanger us all. We'll just have to seal off this well." He looked over at Maggie. "There are others right?"

Maggie nodded tersely. "Two more. But we aint had much rain recently, gonna have to be careful usin' 'em."

Andrea shrugged, moving away as the men replaced the wooden slat cover to the well. The creature could be heard from inside it, faintly gurgling.

"As long as there isn't a walker in them."

The others moved away, Maggie leading them.

Dale hung back, watching Andrea worriedly. She could feel his eyes on her, and she stopped, eyes closing briefly. _Why can't he just leave me alone-?_

"I'm worried about you Andrea."

She almost laughed. Dale could be so predictable, always trying to make things right and make sure everyone was ok; when they could never possibly be.

"You shouldn't be." She shrugged carelessly, watching the others reach the other pump. "We got enough problems right now."

She knew she sounded like a bitch, but the minute she shot Amy was the moment she changed. Her heart felt numb and cold. It just wasn't worth worrying about others or feeling anything; the moment she did she'd lose sight of the real goal, surviving.

She could still remember that walker in the RV, and her blinding panic. Or the walker in the woods, shambling at her slower than a crawling newborn, and all she could so was lie on the ground crying.

It wouldn't happen again.

She couldn't feel fear, or worry, or _concern_. If she did that...she was dead. Dale had denied her the choice of her own death. Denied that choice, at least she could choose her battles.

And by god she was going to choose the death of _a lot_ of walkers.

...

Carol watched the others return, jugs sloshing with water. She picked up strands of the conversation, something about a walker in the well, before she tuned out.

She sat on the ground outside of the RV, mindlessly patching the holes in some of the spare clothing. Any mindless task was better than sitting around, waiting and worrying that something had happened to Soph-

"Ow!" She winced, pulling her finger away. She had jabbed it with the needle, and after assessing the bright speck of blood, she slowly put her finger in her mouth. Lori came over, settling down next to her.

"You alright?" She asked. Carol managed a breathy laugh, wiping her finger on her thigh and resuming her work.

"Oh just stuck myself. I'll be fine."

Lori smiled in response. Carol was glad that her boy Carl was recovering, she really was, but a tiny part of her also darkly hated her for it. Hated that Lori's child was safe and recovering, whilst Sophia was lost in the woods with those...those _things_. Hot jealously spread through her gut like a poison. _Why not her instead of me?_ She thought bitterly.

It was a voice she couldn't seem to quiet, and Carol hated herself for it.

"You know," Lori said suddenly, unaware of the swirling thoughts of the woman beside her, "I used to keep this diary. I'd put everything in it, from Carl's soccer games to neighborhood barbeques, even silly things like what tv shows were on when." She laughed, but it was a hollow sound. "Now I don't even know what day it is, let alone what I'm doing."

Carol stared at her sewing, not trusting herself to look at the pretty brunette next to her. "It's July. I think." She offered.

Lori nodded absently, looking away over the field. Three figures could be made out through the shimmering air, walking slowly back towards the house.

She'd recognize her husband anywhere, and Lori's heart sank as she saw they returned alone. Judging by the dejected walk of Shane and Daryl beside him, they felt just as devastated.

Another day with no sign of Sophia.

She turned anxious eyes back to Carol, but the woman continued her sewing. Lori stood quietly, turning and making her way to the edge of the camp. Rick headed straight for her, and she searched his eyes for any indication of news, good or bad. He shook his head.

"Didn't find anythin'." He said quietly, reaching out to touch her arm. "No walkers either."

Shane drew alongside them and Lori pointedly didn't look at him.

"'part from that sad bastard in the tree." He remarked, shouldering past Rick with a dark look at Lori.

Daryl snorted, moving into the shade as he slid his crossbow off his shoulder. "Still say it was a waste of an arrow shootin' him." He muttered.

Rick sighed, pulling away from Lori. "Maybe. But at least we don't have to worry bout him any more."

...

For the first time since the beginning of the end of the world, Hershel Green was at peace.

Rick found the older man at the back of the house; leaning back in an old wicker chair in the shade. His cane lay on the grass beside him, and he held a glass of water in one hand as he gazed out over his land.

The house was surrounded on all sides by the flat golden expanses of farm land, and Rick spared a glance for its natural beauty for joining him.

"Its good t' just take a moment sometimes." Hershel said slowly, eyes not wavering from the fields. "Sometimes I think we need an occasional reminder."

Rick frowned, fanning himself slowly with the brim of his hat. "Of what?"

Hershel shifted slightly, taking a drink from the glass. "For me it's often God." He finally turned his head to look at the man next to him. "No thoughts on that?"

Rick shifted uneasily. He knew Hershel considered himself a man of God, and tried to pick his words carefully. Offending the old man would only make him want to kick them all off his property quicker.

"I try not to mix it up with the almighty anymore." He finally said, licking his dry lips. "Best we stay outta each others way."

Hershel nodded, turning back to the scene in front of him, releasing Rick from his scrutinizing gaze.

"Lori told me your story. How you were shot, the coma-" Rick coughed slightly but Hershel continued. "And yet you came out of it somehow. You tellin' me you did not feel God's hand in yours?"

Those eyes were back on him, assessing him, and Rick breathed out what could have been a chuckle, but it was a dry and forced. He dropped his eyes, noticing a grasshopper on Hershel's cane, and watched as it crawled along the dark wood.

"At that moment? No I did not."

Hershel nodded as if this confirmed something to him.

"And in all the chaos you found your wife and boy, then he was shot, and he survived." He paused again. "That tells you nothin'?"

The old man was trying to tell him something but Rick wasn't in the mood to hear it. In his eyes God could go screw himself for letting the horror of walkers go unchecked. Of letting his boy get shot. Of letting all those people die; good people who didn't deserve it. Of letting a little girl get lost in the woods and letting a mother suffer.

He felt his teeth grind together as his jaw clenched. Slowly he put the hat back on his head, not even grimacing at the warm moist sweat it trapped on his hair.

"Tells me God's got a strange sense of humor." He said grimly. Hershel looked away with a disbelieving smile, and said no more.

Rick turned and walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title**: The Walking Supernatural (4/16)  
**Author**: daksgirl  
**Rating**: NC-17  
**Genre**: Zombies! Crossover fic of Supernatural meets the Walking Dead.  
**Spoilers:** None this chapter  
**Warnings**: Violence, Decomposing corpses, Strong language, Adult situations  
**Word Count**: 4,501 this chapter (WIP)  
**Summary:** _AU from 5x22 Swan Song. _Dean and Sam manage to stumble their way into yet more trouble, but might just have found a new ally.

**A/N **Argh this thing is taking on a life of its own. Don't worry; Cas will be making an appearance next chapter! I wasn't planning on finishing this today but…meh screw it. Who needs sleep anyways?

….

The kid had been yammering non-stop since they had started the long trek down the dirt road.

After a tense night, the brothers had packed up everything they could salvage from the farmhouse and hit the road. The girl seemed to have recovered from her ordeal in the woods, warming to the two men as they all walked side by side down the path.

It promised to be another glorious day, and Dean titled his head to the sun, relishing the warmth as Sophia chatted beside him.

"-so then I told him that couldn't possibly be true, but Carl was all like noooo, and I said yes it is. And then Mrs. Grimes said something about the grand canyon which I've never been to, and about how they're going to go back there one day so I asked mom if we could go too and she said maybe and-" Sophia finally sucked in a deep breath, blinking.

"I really miss ice cream." She blurted suddenly. "Do you think we'll ever have ice cream again?"

Dean shrugged, looking back at the girl, smiling at her wide eyed look.

"I dunno. Can't really imagine a world without ice cream though. How bout you Sam?"

Sam was walking on the other side of the girl, eyes scanning the forest around them. There hadn't been any signs of more walkers, but they weren't taking any chances. Sam shrugged, hitching his duffel into a more comfortable position on his shoulder.

"You know what I miss?" He asked.

Dean snorted. "Your man card?" He suggested sweetly.

Sam pointedly ignored him, hand moving behind Sophia's back to flip the bird at him. The girl seemed ridiculously small next to his giant of a brother, her head only just brushing his elbow.

"I miss my laptop. The Internet. I had the whole world at my fingertips and now…well now I feel disconnected."

Sophia considered this, before nodding solemnly. "Me too."

They travelled on.

…

At mid-day they stopped for a brief rest. Sam handed out some old cereal bars they had found at a gas-station days ago, as well as a dented water bottle. The water was warm from the day's heat, but all three took several grateful swigs. They had four more bottles in the duffle bags but were going to have to ration them; who knew how long they'd be out here.

The day continued to lengthen. It seemed like the road they were following just went on and on, and Dean was starting to seriously consider suggesting they head back. He had cast a glance behind them attempting to gauge how long it might take them to get back to the house when he noticed it.

Further down the dusty trail behind them, something was following.

It was too far away to see clearly, but he could hazard a guess as to what it was.

Turning back to the front, his hand slid to the back of his jeans, reassuring himself that the revolver was in easy reach. The thing was far enough away to not pose a threat at the moment, and Dean didn't mention it. Sophia didn't need to be scared at the moment, not when they weren't in any real danger. Yet.

Presently she was chatting to Sam, and had grabbed his hand, a slight skip in her step. Sam was smiling down at her, listening to her dutifully as she told him a story about someone called Andrea.

Half an hour later and the thing following them was getting closer. Slowly but steadily it was starting to catch up. The shuffling gait was more pronounced now, and it showed no signs of giving up its determined march. Though the air in the distance shimmered with heat, Dean could just about make out other shapes behind it, a bit further behind but moving forward.

Goddammit these ones were _determined_.

"Sam." He said quietly. Sam looked over at him, and Dean jerked his head behind them. Sam nodded.

"I know." He said quietly.

Sophia noticed their grim looks and threw a glance over her shoulder. Her eyes widened and she whimpered, clinging to Sam's hand even harder.

Dean reached out, hand splaying on her damp back and rubbing small soothing circles.

"Don't look back hon. They're a ways behind us yet." Her frightened eyes found his, and she jerked her head in a tight nod.

"Dean." It was Sam's low voice that snapped his eyes back to the path in front of them, and he cursed colorfully, hand jerking towards the back of his jeans for the revolver.

"Uh-uh pretty boy. Keep those hands where I can see 'em." A voice tittered.

….

A couple stood in the front of them on the path, a man and woman standing side by side, seemingly having appeared out of no-where.

The man was large and broad, a shotgun in his hands. The double barrels glinted in the sun, and they were aimed right at Dean. That wasn't what had drawn Sam's attention however, and both brothers stared in silent horror.

Bites riddled the mans arms; great chunks of flesh ripped out leaving weeping swathes of flesh, the edges stained with the green tinge of infection. The woman was worse off, a large strip of flesh had been stripped off one arm and the white dull gleam of wet bone could be seen.

Her one cheek had been shredded, possibly by a shotgun blast, and the tattered remains of it hung down along her neck, teeth grinning from within the blackened cavity. Dean wrinkled his nose as the smell of the two hit him, coughing slightly.

Sam looked at them incredulously, Sophia now clutching his arm, eyes wide and horrified.

"How are you not dead?" He asked, genuinely bewildered. By rights the two should be zombified, at the very least not up and _walking_.

The woman grinned, and Dean saw the flash of black in her gaze. "Who says we aint?"

"Demons." He growled, and Sam stiffened beside him.

The man took a shaky step forward, shotgun thrust aggressively forward.

"Winchesters. Fancy seeing you in our neck o'the woods."

Dean cursed colorfully in his head. The revolver was useless against these two, and Ruby's knife was buried in Sam's duffle. They hadn't seen any demons in weeks; foolishly they had decided to store it as to ensure it wouldn't get lost in a scuffle.

Not a mistake they'd be making again any time soon.

_Shit_. The two demons were eyeing Sophia with twin stares of interest, and it hit him then what these two wanted. With their anti-possession tattoos the Winchesters were useless, but Sophia wasn't. These two were cruising for a new meat sack.

"Thought you had all run back home." Dean said boldly, Sam shooting him a look that clearly said: _What are you doing you idiot? TRYING to get us killed?_ Dean answered him with his own: _Gotta stall them until we figure out what to do._

The man sneered. "Hell's under new management thanks to you two chuckleheads. We'd rather take our chances up here."

Dean barked out a laugh.

"Yeah, looks like you're having a _peachy_ time of it. So what's the deal, your host already dead and you're barely keeping him together? Looks like a lost cause if you ask me."

The woman snarled at him, eyes now pitch black.

"Shut it you smart mouthed prick. Just hand the girl over."

Behind the two demons two walkers had materialized from the forest. They shuffled up towards the group, sightless eyes zeroing in on their voices. Sam noticed them as well, and just like that they had a plan.

Dean took a small step forward, centering both demons attention on him as he grinned wildly.

"Bitch you _clearly_ don't get how this works."

Dean gestured towards Sam and himself, "See, we're Winchesters," He pointed back at the couple, "and you, demonic spawn from hell. Put the two together and what you get is a whole lotta pain comin' your way."

The female laughed at that, a sluggish line of blood dripping from her cheek onto her stained shirt as she strained the damaged flesh.

"I don't think you boys are in any sort'a position to be makin' threats," She smirked as her friend hefted up the shotgun again. "We're the ones with the firepower."

The walkers were close. Their peeling mouths opened and closed but they made no sound, much to the luck of the Winchesters. As they drew even closer Dean could see why; their throats had been chewed out.

Sam's face was grim as he glared at the couple. "You should be running."

The two demons shared a bemused look, and the female started towards him teeth bared.

"If you think we're afraid of-" She gurgled as the first walker finally reached her, rotting fingers grabbing her arm from behind. The male swung his shotgun towards it and Dean wasted no time, grabbing Sophia by the arm and practically throwing the girl to the side towards the forest.

"Run!" He bellowed, the two of them barreling towards the treeline. A shotgun blasted behind them and Dean threw a terrified glance behind him. Luckily Sam was right behind him, intact, and eyes wide. Another blast rented the air, and a tree next to Dean's head suddenly splintered into small shards. He ducked his head, barreling forward and ignoring the angry shout behind them.

The walkers that had been trailing them for the better part of the day had finally caught up, and judging by the sudden high pitched shriek of the demons, they were pretty hungry.

The three of them crashed through the undergrowth, away from the horrible sounds. Only when they reached a small clearing where the trees thinned, did they stop, Dean bending over to rest his arms on his thighs as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Damn. That was close." He wheezed. Sophia winced, reaching down to untangle a branch caught in her shoelaces.

"I hurt my ankle." She looked up at Sam. "What were those things?" Sam shook his head at her.

"We'll explain later. Right now we gotta get back to the house. Who knows how many more are out here that heard the blast-"

It was Sophia's low moan that brought Dean's head back up from his crouch, and he groaned. _Seriously?_

A different group of walkers shuffled out of the trees. They had been hikers, and all still wore tattered backpacks; one even still wore cracked and broken sunglasses. It would have been pretty funny, had it not been for the fact that there were a good amount of them and they seemed pretty interested in the sudden buffet that had stumbled upon their little clearing.

Dean cursed, sliding the duffle off his shoulder and tossing it to Sam. Turning his back to Sophia, he crouched down, hands braced in the grass.

"Quick sweetheart. Piggy-back time."

The girl clambered on him in a flash, and Dean grunted at the extra weight, straightening and hooking his arms under her legs. Sam led the way as they crashed back into the forest, the snuffling of the zombies following them. Another two lunged out at them from behind some trees as they sped past, fingers clutching at their shirts briefly, and Dean could hear Sam's breathy curse. There were a lot of them, and though running wildly through the forest was not the best plan, it was the only one they had.

Sam veered to the right, and Dean struggled to keep up. Sophia was trembling on his back, arms clamped across his neck like a cinch as he ran. Dean struggled to inhale, his breath coming in short gasps. He lost sight of Sam as the taller man powered ahead, disappearing through a dense prickly bush.

"Dammit, Sam!"

The zombies following behind had somehow picked up their pace; he could hear their collected groans of longing. These ones weren't going to give up easy now they had him in their sights. Dean could feel genuine fear lance up his spine as he struggled on.

"Dean!" Sam's shout cut through his panic, and Sophia jerked on his back, loosening her arm long enough to shakily point off to the left.

"Over there!" She yelled. Dean followed her direction blindly, sweat dripping into his eyes.

"Kind of busy Sam!" He bellowed back. Sam reappeared, crashing through the large shrub with all the grace of a bulldozer, panting hard. His hair was wet with sweat, hanging in his eyes.

"I can see a farmhouse, if we can just make it there, we can hole up then take them down one by one." His eyes widened as he looked over Dean's shoulder at their pursuers, and Dean grunted, hefting the girl higher up on his back. She was whimpering, her bony knees digging into his ribs.

"Go!" He barked, startling Sam back into action. Turning, he led the way back through the destroyed shrub, branches clawing at their clothes they stumbled through.

One sharp twig pierced his arm, drawing a pained grunt from Dean as he struggled free from it. The two men crashed through a few more shrubs until they suddenly broke free; stumbling into a tamed field.

A large farmhouse beckoned in the distance, a red barn next to it and several cars parked outside. They ran further into the field and Dean went down twice, knees protesting as they slammed into the dirt.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself up and on. _Goddamn I am getting too old for this shit._ His lungs burned and muscles ached; his back creaked with the exertion of running with a full body on it.

Sam was a blur of long limbs and bouncing hair in front of him, both duffels slung haphazardly across his back. They jerked around crazily from his running; often smashing into each other with audible clanks. _If any of the flasks of holy water make it,_ Dean thought, _it'll be a damn miracle. _

As they neared the house they could suddenly make out figures out front and Dean felt a stab of fear. Was the farmhouse already overrun? They were out in the open with no possible cover, they wouldn't stand a chance. Sam obviously thought the same thing and had slowed slightly.

Suddenly he seemed to see something Dean couldn't, and sped up again, waving his arms wildly.

"Don't shoot! We have a kid with us!" he bellowed.

Dean felt a surge of hope in his chest, spurring his legs on. Were those actual people? More figures spilled out of the house, and one seemed to run forward. Dean could just about make out that it was woman, and she had her hands clapped to her mouth as she screamed.

"_SOPHIA_!"

Dean choked as the girl suddenly seized up, arms squeezing across his throat even tighter.

"_MOMMYYYY!"_ She screamed; mouth right in his ear.

He could see them now; three men were moving towards them, all three armed. The man furthest out front was sighting down the barrel of a rifle and was dressed in a stained beige uniform. Brass glinted on his hat and breast, and Dean heaved silent thanks that they had found a group with a guy who knew what he was doing.

"Get down!" The cop shouted; the clicking of safety's coming off loud across the field. Dean dropped like a stone onto his front as did Sam, and the air above him erupted with the crack of bullets and the groans of the undead. Ignoring the pain where he had face-planted into Mother Earth, Dean rolled the girl off his back, gathering her in his arms as he ducked his head down and held her tightly.

The minutes stretched on, and then it was finally over.

Dean raised his head, eyes shooting to the massacre only a few feet behind him. Damn they'd been close. One zombie had its arm outstretched, fingers only inches from his boot, staring blankly at him. An arrow protruded from its eye, the steel tip winking at him from the back of its head. Dean whistled appreciatively, releasing Sophia and sitting up.

"Woah."

Sam's voice was low, and Dean looked back to find his brother sitting in stunned disbelief; hair plastered to his head at crazy angles and dirt covering his face from his dive for cover. Dean laughed then, long and loud, and Sam shot a sheepish smile at him.

Sophia scrambled away from them, tears streaming down her face as she struggled up. A woman was running towards them, arms outstretched and face streaming with tears.

"Mommy!"

"Sophia!"

The two reached each other in seconds, the woman wrapping the girl in her arms and sinking to the ground, sobbing.

Dean stood up slowly, wincing at the pain in his back and knees. Sam did the same, turning to face their saviors.

The cop approached them first, eyes solemn as he looked the two brothers over.

"You two alright? No bites?"

Sam shook his head, smiling broadly. "No sir. That was some good shooting. Thank you."

Dean brushed his jeans down, watching the other two men as they drew level with the cop. One was closely-shaved and looked pretty ripped; he stared back at Dean with barely disguised mistrust, a rifle held loosely in his arms. The other looked like the hillbillies Dean had teased Sam about back at the old house, but held a crossbow in the crook of his arm. Dean nodded to him.

"Yeah. Thanks." He said gruffly. The cop looked at over him then, rifle still held tightly in his hands as if disbelieving the danger was really over.

"Where'd you find the girl?" His tone was just shy of demanding, but it wasn't exactly asking either.

"She found us actually." Sam interjected. "We were camped out in an old house a few miles away. Some walkers chased her right into us." He smiled again, too relieved at finding other survivors to be suspicious. "She mentioned she was looking for her group…which I guess is you."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, thank _Christo_ we found you guys." He was relieved to find his slipped word had no effect on the men, their eyes stayed clear. Looked like these really were survivors. _Human_ ones. Sam shot him a relieved look and Dean grinned back.

The hillbilly on the right clapped a hand on the cop's back, smiling.

"Well that's a stroke o' good luck. Fer everyone." He said. He moved forward despite the cop's glare, one grimy hand held in front of him.

"Name's Daryl." He grunted. Dean took the proffered hand, noting the man's grip was strong and hand callused. If he didn't know any better, and they'd been in a different situation, he'd assume the man was a Hunter like them.

"Dean." He jerked his head to the side. "And this is my sister Sam."

...

It took the better part of an hour to get the full story from everyone.

Sam and Dean stood inside the living room of the farmhouse, everyone crammed into the small humble space. The farmhouse and land belonged to the older man called Hershel, who sat in an old rocking chair with a frown on his face. Dean got the impression, though pleased Sophia had been returned safely, the old man didn't like the fact that yet more people had turned up on his doorstep.

Rick seemed to be the leader of the small group, and told the brothers all about the group's travels and how they landed up in Georgia. Turned out Rick was from the Kentucky Sheriff's Department, he had awoken in hospital to find the world in ruins. His wife Lori, a serious looking brunette, had taken their son Carl and travelled with some other survivors towards Atlanta, and had been nearby when the military destroyed the city. They formed a small band of survivors after that, and somehow, miraculously, Rick found them. They had tried retreating to a CDC safe zone, but it turned out no-where was safe. The group had been travelling away from the city into the country when they hit the roadblock and got separated from Sophia. Things got a bit crazy there, but Dean understood that an accident had occurred involving Rick's son, and Hershel saved him.

"Then you two come along." Rick finished. "And I gotta say, we're mighty grateful for that." There were nods from around the room. Sophia smiled at them from the safe embrace of her mother, Carol.

Sam smiled at him, nervously running a hand through his sweaty hair.

"Believe me, we feel the same."

A distinctly Asian looking guy stood leaning against the wall, a baseball cap worn loosely on his head. He shook his head and Dean struggled to remember his name. _Glenn_, his brain helpfully supplied.

"Don't suppose you guys heard anything new? Like what the hell is actually going on?" Glenn asked.

The brothers shook their heads apologetically.

"Sorry, we're just as in the dark as you guys are." Sam said.

"Things are just as bad from where we came from; military tried stopping it and failed. Kind of everyone for themselves now." Dean supplied.

And of course there was the problem of the demons. _They might not have gone down under the walkers and could be back,_ Dean thought worriedly, _Any one of these people was at risk_.

"Do you have any salt?" He asked. Sam shot him a warning look, and Rick frowned.

"What for?"

Yeah like he was going to try and tell these people about demons. They'd probably kick him out faster than he could say "christo" again. He had to say something though, this new world required a whole new set of rules, but lying would get someone killed. These people had to know _something_.

"Just…as a deterrent. Zombies might not be our only problem." He finally said. There, it wasn't a lie.

For a moment no-one moved, then the room erupted in talking.

"Don't call them that!"

"What, zombies?"

"Why not? It's what they are."

"It's just not right. Zombies are things in movies."

"Well then we're living in one. What do you call those things out there?"

"I don't want to call them anything."

"Did Daryl spook you with his Chupacabra story already?"

"So what, salt will somehow magically repel them?"

The last comment was from the serious looking shaved head guy. Dean gathered he was Shane, the guy Rick's wife had been travelling with. Apparently he had been a cop too, and could see it in his stance. Dean had never really gotten along well with cops.

"I know it sounds crazy. But we need it. Rock-salt is best, but ordinary table salt will do."

The others stared at him blankly for a moment before Lori broke it with a sarcastic laugh.

"You've got to be kidding." She said flatly. Dean felt a flare of annoyance and bristled. _Lady I have had one bitch of a day, you best back the attitude down a notch._

"Look I know how it sounds, but me and Sam have been doin this a long time-"

Sam took a step forward, spreading his hands imploringly, cutting Dean off before he could mouth off. "You're just going to have to trust us."

Lori looked unconvinced, glancing over at her husband, who was watching the two brothers with an unreadable look.

"Aint alot of that goin around these days." Shane muttered. That sparked off another group discussion, voices rising as tempers flared.

"Well it can't hurt I guess-"

"You can't be serious, they're _obviously_ delusional-"

"Great that's real nice Andrea, just bad-mouth the two men who _saved my daughter-_"

"How do you know that'll work? Are you both scientists?"

"Oh yeah Dale they definitely look like scientists."

"What do you know? They could be rocket scientists for all we know."

"Yeah or mass murderers."

"Real smooth T-dog."

It was Sophia who stopped it. Pulling away from her mother she stood in front of Sam and Dean, small fists on her hips as she scowled at them all.

"LISTEN. There were these people today…." She trailed off, swallowing, before mustering up a glare to shoot at Rick. "They saved me and I believe them. You'd best believe them too. _Or else._"

...

It was late evening by the time they went back outside. Salting the doors and windows of the house wouldn't be enough protection; most of the group was camped outside either in the RV or in makeshift tents. The brothers decided to draw salt lines along the edges of the yard and house. It wouldn't last long and they'd probably have to renew them every day, but it would do the trick for the time being.

Dean straightened from his task as someone approached.

It was Daryl, the crossbow slung across his back, hands jammed in his jean pockets. Steeling himself for another round of questions and accusations of being crazy, Dean set the bag of salt on the ground, brushing his hands together. The salt made the scratches on his hands, from their headlong flight through the woods, sting.

"I know what this must look like..." He started, but the other man shrugged, studying the salt line Dean had started to draw along the fence. The salt seemed to glow in the moonlight.

"Hey aint in me to question nobody these days." Daryl said.

Sam appeared from around the side of the house, having finished the salt lines on the other side, and paused as he noticed Daryl's presence.

Dean frowned slightly. "You believe us? Why?"

Daryl snorted, leaning one hip against the wooden fence. "You believe in dead people walkin around? Dont get much weirder than that. Besides-" He hunched his shoulders slightly, the crossbow swinging. "I know what it's like fer people t' not believe you. But I know what I saw."

Dean remembered the conversation earlier, and the one comment someone had made. "You mean a Chupacabra right?"

Daryl's face closed off, as if ready for the two brothers to rip into him like the others obviously had.

Instead, Sam nodded absently, walking closer, the salt bag hefted under one arm.

"Yeah I bet the woods are pretty full of them this time of year. They don't tend to attack people, but love livestock. In fact most of the time they live off of sheep. You know, I remember this one time…"

He suddenly trailed off; catching sight of Dean's _dude-shut-up-they-already-think-we're-crazy_ glare sent his way.

"Uhh….I mean….that's what I've read. You know…in a book" Sam finished lamely, and Dean rolled his eyes. _Great Sam, real smooth._

Daryl was looking at them both, but he looked more amused than freaked out.

"You boys say we got other stuff comin after us." He nodded to the salt. "That gonna help?"

Both brothers paused, shooting a glance at each other before Sam shrugged.

"It can't hurt."

Daryl nodded. "Alright then. What you want me to do?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Title**: The Walking Supernatural (5/16)  
**Author**: daksgirl  
**Rating**: NC-17  
**Genre**: Zombies! Crossover fic of Supernatural meets the Walking Dead.  
**Spoilers:** WD S02E05  
**Warnings**: Violence, Decomposing corpses, Strong language, Adult situations  
**Word Count**: 2,787 (WIP)  
**Summary:** _AU from 5x22 Swan Song. _The Winchester's settle down into life in camp, but are in for a nasty surprise.

**A/N** Wanted to get this done before the new WD episode tonight, so here it is! Geez not sure how long I can keep these updates up haha…reviews sustain me however! :D

…

Dean awoke to the sounds of metal clinking together and a cockerel crowing.

Groaning, he scrubbed a hand over his face, grimacing at the dried drool. He must have fallen asleep pretty hard.

Opening his eyes he was met with the sight of Sam's foot only inches from his face. Raising his head slightly he could see the shape of a body underneath the heavy duvet that they had _meant_ to be sharing. Someone had obviously decided to claim it all for himself when he had turned around in his sleep. Dean poked the blanket, and a guttural grunt could be heard.

"Up and at em Sleeping Beauty."

"Go'way." was the sullen reply.

Grinning wickedly, he reached out, running his finger down Sam's foot. There was a loud squeal, and Dean was nearly kicked in the face as the exposed limb was hastily drawn back into the safety of Sam's duvet fortress. Muttering about how he had wanted a little brother, not sister, Dean clambered over the Sam-sized lump and pushed outside.

The group of survivors had set out camp near Hershel's house, a few yards away from the front porch. They had erected proper tents, creating a little village in the yard.

There wasn't a spare tent for the two Winchesters however, so a shaky shelter made up of blankets and clothing pegs formed their temporary home instead. It suited them just fine; for once they had soft linen and actual pillows, and sleeping outside was actually nice, considering how hot it could get during the day.

Dean ducked through the makeshift entrance, stretching lazily. He groaned as he felt several vertebrae click back into place, and dropped his arms back down with a satisfied sigh.

It seemed they had managed to sleep in; the rest of the tents were empty.

The source of the metal clanging turned out to be Dale and Daryl; they stood nearby, sorting out an assortment of pots and pans spread out along an old looking picnic table. Dean nodded to them both as he grabbed his boots from where he had left them outside the makeshift tent.

Settling down in the dirt, he laced them up methodically, now and then looking up to squint up through the trees at the sun. Yet another sunny day in the middle of the apocalypse.

A few yards away from the picnic table was Carol, hanging up laundry. Sophia sat nearby sorting through an old rusty bucket of clothing pegs. Dean smiled at them, walking over.

"Morning." He rasped, Sophia shooting him a blinding smile.

"Morning!" She chirped.

Carol smiled over at him from behind the billowing sheet she was slinging over the clothing line. The wash line was lashed between two trees, and Dean ducked under it.

"Can't believe I slept in." He admitted.

Carol smiled softly at him, taking an offered clothes peg from Sophia.

"Well I'd say you two deserved it." She ran her hands along the top of the sheet, straightening the wrinkles. "All that running and fighting. I know I'd sleep for a day!"

Lori appeared from the other side of the camp, stalking forward angrily and headed for the house. She passed the three, shooting a dark glower at Dean as she passed. He watched her as she stalked towards the house, a rain-cloud practically thundering over her head.

"Did...did I do something?" He asked bewildered. Carol shook her head with a laugh.

"Don't mind her. Woman troubles."

Dean turned back to her, eyebrow arching. The housewife shook her head again.

"Now listen here. Lori's worried about her boy as well as Rick. This whole thing with the…with the….," she sobered slightly, "with the _zombies_ is getting to all of us. And no offence but we don't know you two."

She smiled kindly.

"Now you're both alright in my book, but you gotta understand how she's feelin'. Mama bear and all that. You'd do well to stay on her good side. Lori is Ricks wife, kind of makes her our unofficial first lady."

Dean nodded, reaching into the wash basket to grab a damp shirt. He twisted it, watching the excess water dribble onto the dirt.

"Got it. Don't mess with the Mama Bear."

He slung it over the wash line, taking the clothes pegs Sophia offered him and pinning the shirt in place.

"So Rick's your leader huh?" He asked.

Carol shrugged. "Nobody else wants to be, but someone had to make the decisions. Guess he just was the lucky one."

She turned away from the wash line to face him, her nose wrinkled slightly.

"You know, these clothes aren't the only thing in need of a good wash."

Dean laughed, not even offended. In this kind of climate, there wasn't much point to being self-conscious about sweating.

"That would be great. You have no idea."

She beckoned with a finger. "Come on then, hand that old shirt over. I'll get started if you get that huge brother of yours up."

Dean grinned, ducking his head to slide off the ruined t-shirt he had decided to wear to sleep the previous evening. Carol probably wasn't that much older than him, but she was a mother, and Dean had a habit of reverting back into a little boy around demanding mothers.

She took the shirt from him, before stilling, her eyes glued to a spot on Dean's bicep.

"What's that? Are you hurt?" Her voice was genuinely concerned, and Dean's brow furrowed.

"What no, what are you-" He glanced down and stopped. Ah.

The handprint branding his arm had faded slightly over the past two years and was no longer raised and sore looking like it used to be. The skin was red and shiny however, definitely a scar that Dean would carry with him the rest of his life. He had forgotten about it; he had long ago accepted it as part of his body, a constant reminder of the biggest turning point of his life.

Sometimes, before the zombies that was, Sam would catch him holding it; hand splayed in the exact shape Castiel must have grabbed him. He'd tease him for days, saying things like _man-crush, _or sing-songing _Deanna and Castielle sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G_.

Dean had put Nair in his shampoo TWICE for that one.

Truth was it was kind of comforting sliding his hand into that spot. Like somehow he could feel Cas's calming influence every time he touched it. It made the nights easier sometimes, and it wasn't any Sam's goddamn business if maybe he touched it a lot more than he needed to.

Carol was staring at it now, and Dean managed a smile.

"Oh that. Had a tattoo removed a while back."

Carol looked incredulous. "You had a hand tattoo?"

Dean shrugged, smiling winningly. "What can I say, I was 18 once too."

The Sasquatch had finally emerged from his lair, and Sam yawned wildly, scrubbing his eyes with one hand as he blinked blearily in the sunlight.

"Did I hear someone say we could wash?" he asked hopefully.

…..

After a much needed full body scrub in cold water behind the house, Sam and Dean set to work on their grubby clothes. Both had stripped down to a cleaner pair of jeans and sat out in the sun, bent over a large metal tub overflowing with soapy water.

"Does Swarzenegger know you stole his abs Sam?" Dean teased, suddenly slightly self-conscious of his own body.

Though they'd been busy angsting and trying to defeat the devil, Sam had still somehow found the time to work out. There wasn't a spot of loose or flabby skin on the man, and it was hard for Dean to wrap his head around the fact that, though his little brother, Sam was _ripped_. Okay he was going to have to kill himself now for even having to look at Sam's body.

Sam shot him a dark glare, scrubbing his shirt harder.

Most of the others were going about their usual daily routine, and Dean sat up a little straighter as Shane walked by. Something about the man just made the hair on the back of Dean's neck stand up, and not in a good way.

The ex-cop snorted at them both. "I see you two are settling in just fine." He turned away before Dean could fire off a witty retort, headed for the field where some of the others were taking care of the undead bodies and practicing shooting.

Dean glared after him. "That guy is kind of a douche."

"_Dean."_ Sam's exasperated puppy eyes threatened an outpouring of bitchiness. "Can you _not_ offend everyone within a 10 mile radius for once? These are the first survivors we've run across since Carolina. If you don't mind I'd like to actually get along with them."

Dean flicked some of the sudsy water at his brother, relishing how Sam squealed.

"Geez Samantha, don't get your panties in a twist. I'll be good."

Sam scowled viciously at him, rebelliously flicking some water back. Before too long there wasn't much washing getting done as the two threw wet clothes and suds at each other.

It was a wolf-whistle that stopped them mid-brawl.

Maggie stood leaning against the side of the house, smirking at them, cow-girl hat slung low. She stood nonchantly, one thumb thrust in the waist of her jeans. "My oh my if that aint a sight for sore eyes."

Looking down Dean realized that yes both of them were shirtless, and now soaked with water. Sam's hair hung in wet strands as he self-consciously tucked his arms over his chest. Like that would somehow preserve his girly dignity.

Dean however knew this game. He smiled back at her, tongue curling behind his teeth as he winked roguishly at her.

"See something you like?" He challenged, and the woman's eyes crawled over his skin.

"Boy do I." She turned and walked away then, hips sashaying. She wasn't the most beautiful, but she was cute and Dean followed the sway of her hips for a moment, undressing her with his eyes.

A slap stung the back of his head, and he yelped.

"Ow! SAM!"

The hulking gigantor had resumed his scrubbing, eyeing Dean with a _keep-it-in-your-pants-or-so-help-me-I-will-end-you _look.

"What did I just say? Keep your eyes in your head Dean. We don't want to go offending anyone. Especially-" he glared harder for good measure, "_fathers with shotguns._"

…

The late afternoon sun made the group sleepy, and most sat around in the shade offered by the trees. Carol and Sophia sat side by side, backs against the fence as they dozed, Sophia's arms wrapped tightly around her mother. Dale, Glenn and a rather scary looking big man Dean had been told was called T-dog, sat around the picnic table playing a game of go fish. Lori was inside with Hershel's family; no doubt checking on her son Carl, whilst Rick and Shane sat on the porch. The two cops were talking together quietly; now and then one of them would laugh, shoving the other.

All in all it was a pretty peaceful scene, and Dean relished it, stretched out on the green grass. He sighed happily, head cushioned on his arms behind his head.

"This isn't so bad." He remarked.

Sam hummed in agreement, nose already buried in a book. Dale had offered it to him after noticing him eyeing up the dog-eared paperback in the trailer.

Dean huffed, wiggling his toes in his boots happily. The sky was a gorgeous blue; white puffy clouds moving sluggishly across it. _If only the world could stay this peaceful_, he thought.

Andrea was on watch, reclining in Dale's camping seat on top of the RV with a rifle leant beside her. Dean's eyes trailed over the blonde, and he briefly entertained the fantasy of what she might look like under those clothes. His heart wasn't in it though; Andrea carried the weight that only came with losing a loved one. It was etched into her face, her way of talking, it was scratched so deep into her heart it had become part of her very soul, and Dean had seen enough of that in himself.

A loud groan echoed from the picnic table, and Andrea looked over at the three men. Glenn had thrown his hands up in the air, doing a little victory jiggle as Dale and T-dog shook their heads, obviously the losers that round. Daryl sat a little ways apart from the group, cleaning his crossbow.

She shook her head, and settled deeper into the chair.

Dean yawned widely. "You know Sammy, maybe it won't be so bad to-" He was interrupted as in a clatter of motion, Andrea was on her feet.

"Walker! WALKER!" She shouted, grabbing the rifle at her side. Dean and Sam were up in a flash, moving quickly towards the RV. The others weren't far behind, shielding their eyes with their hands as they strained to see through the glare of the sun.

There, emerging from the tree line where the Winchesters had stumbled only last night, shuffled a figure.

Rick had dived into the small pile of weapons they kept near the RV for just this reason.

"Just the one?" He demanded. Andrea was sighting down her scope.

"I bet I can nail it." She said confidently. Rick tossed a bat towards Dean, and he almost dropped it in his surprise.

"No, let us handle this." Rick directed at the blonde on the roof. "If it's just one don't waste the bullet. We don't want to bring a whole lotta others runnin'."

Dean recognized the glint of violence in Shane's eyes as he hefted up a pick-axe, and felt a swell of testosterone in response.

"Sam and I can do it." He ignored Sam's protest. "Show you what we can do."

Rick looked amused as he glanced between Shane and the Winchester.

"Now this aint a competition boys."

Shane grunted, eyes not leaving Dean's.

"Not yet it isn't."

…..

Andrea watched the men all suddenly start running out in the field, pushing and shoving at each other like school children. She muttered darkly to herself, shifting into a more comfortable position on the RV roof. She couldn't see the figure clearly, but it was definitely walking like a walker. The sun glared right behind it, blinding her slightly and she frowned, concentrating her sights.

Something flapped around the figure as it shuffled forward; looked like it was wearing a coat of some sort.

"Andrea don't." Dale's voice came from her left and Andrea bared her teeth.

"Back off Dale." She warned. She was going to show everyone once and for all, she wasn't afraid of those things.

…

Dean ran and leapt through the tall grass, Sam loping along beside him. It was a race to see who got the first kill honors, and though the two cops were close behind, they were no match for a pair of competitive brothers who had been doing this all their lives. Sam whooped somewhere to his right and Dean raced on, a wild grin on his face.

The walker was still shuffling forward, favouring its left side as it moved forward.

The sun was still in his eyes, and he threw a hand up to block it as he barreled forward. _Just a little further…_The sun finally blinked out; hidden behind the trees, and just as suddenly Dean had ground to a halt, mouth gaping open. Sam crashed into his side.

"Dean what the hell…" He trailed off as the figure came into focus for him as well, mirroring his brother with a goldfish impression.

In front of them, the figure halted, and managed a tired smile from a face caked with blood.

"Hello, Dean. Sam."

The gravelly voice snapped Dean out of it, and he grinned so widely his cheeks hurt.

"_Jesus Christ_ Cas, you look like shit." Relief surged through him, so sudden and hot in his gut he felt like crumpling to the ground and praising whatever would listen. Cas was here. He looked like he'd been run over several times with a truck then dragged through a bush backwards, but he was _here._

The angel managed another wearied smile, swaying slightly on the spot. The poor bastard looked dead on his feet.

"It is good to see you too. I would have come sooner but I ran into some... difficulties."

Sam laughed, and Dean's heart clenched at the genuine happiness laced in his brother's voice. Cas was back, they were going to be ok.

Castiel took another step forward, and Dean moved as well. This was it, he was going to hug the son-of-a-bitch, Sam's teasing be damned.

The crack of a rifle tore through the field and Castiel's head ricocheted back, a spray of blood arcing up against the blue sky.

The angel dropped to the ground like a stone, crumpling like a doll with its strings cut.

Dean forgot how to breathe.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title**: The Walking Supernatural (6/16)  
**Author**: daksgirl  
**Rating**: NC-17  
**Genre**: Zombies! Crossover fic of Supernatural meets the Walking Dead.  
**Spoilers:** WD S02E05  
**Warnings**: Violence, Decomposing corpses, Strong language, Adult situations  
**Word Count**: 3,313 (WIP)  
**Summary:** _AU from 5x22 Swan Song. _The best laid plans of angels are apparently not so well laid after all.

**A/N: **Argh you guys I just want to hug you all for the amazing reviews you've left me. Because I can't, instead you get another chapter! Seriously this is crazy I can't seem to stop writing. Thanks for reading, you guys encourage me to keep at it :D

….

It was cold.

There had been a time when he wouldn't have felt it, the icy chill of the wind as it howled across the empty waste in front of him. The place he stood had been long-forgotten by man, lying in a lost corner of northern Russia.

Once it had been a place of worship for an ancient colony of men, who had understood the delicate balance of life and death, and celebrated it accordingly. If he concentrated hard enough he could almost hear the echoes of their prayers and singing, could almost feel the gentle peace of the souls that had resided here, once very long ago.

But this was now. And nothing was as it should be.

The wind nipped at his exposed cheeks and tousled his dark hair as Castiel; angel of the lord, stood bowed before it, eyes closed. His wings arched out behind him in the flurry of wind, muscles stretched and feathers rippling. Outwardly he looked every inch the stoic warrior of God, but inside, his grace roiled and quaked.

Heaven had dissolved into disarray after Lucifer was thrown back into the dark abyss of the cage. Castiel had heard the frightened cries of his brothers and sisters as they all called out, mourning the loss of yet another archangel. The heavens wept for the fallen Gabriel, wept for Lucifer and wept for themselves. Raphael's voice was a booming roar that tore across the heavens, but few of the angels listened to him. Even Michael, in all his terrible beauty, was ignored as the angels turned on each other; each blaming one another for the chaos they found themselves in with Lucifer's second falling.

He couldn't bear those cries. Though it could have meant immediate death, Castiel returned to heaven. And as he appeared, in the middle of a battlefield, all of heaven fell silent. Each angel stilled, turning to behold the one who had rebelled; the one who had chosen _man_ over heaven. Castiel the betrayer, Castiel the traitor, Castiel the angel who almost fell.

One by one, each and every angel knelt to their knees and bowed before him.

It wasn't right, and Castiel had balked in horror. He had disobeyed, he had defied everything each angel was programmed to do, and by rights they should destroy him and scatter the remains of his grace to the far winds; not revere him. Raphael had been furious, and the heavens again echoed with his rage as he screamed at the bowed angels, demanding they stand up and obey.

It was Michael who approached him.

"Castiel." He had murmured, and the smaller angel had trembled before him. Surely Michael would not allow this chaos, this blasphemy in the face of God. Michael would stop this and destroy him. It was what should be done and Castiel did not regret his choices. Given the opportunity again, he would always, _always_, do exactly the same. He would choose the Winchesters over heaven. He would choose _Dean_.

But Michael did none of the things Castiel imagined he should do. Instead, the archangel Michael, most powerful of all angels, most beautiful and terrible to behold, most _beloved_, sank to his knees as well.

The archangel's eyes gazed up at him with such broken loss, and Castiel realized with mounting dread that heaven would not recover from Lucifer's fall again. Not this time. They loved him too much for that.

Consumed with horror and fear, Castiel had fled, returning to the only home that made any sense to him; returning to the Winchesters. It seemed easier to tell the brothers that he was barred from heaven, rather than attempt to tell them of what had happened.

That heaven was broken.

The brothers had done enough, and needed not be troubled with more bad news. They were eager to move on from angels and divine plans, and Castiel did not blame them. He longed to be able to do the same. Purposefully he muted his grace so he could no longer hear the cries of his brothers, nor could they find him.

It was in those lonely and sad days that he finally understood why Gabriel had fled, and why he had chosen a life in exile.

After a month of hiding, Castiel couldn't bear it any longer. It was not in him to cower from anything, and he couldn't avoid his family for ever. As Dean was always so fond of saying, _family was everything_. Cautiously he released his hold on his grace, allowing it to infuse his being again, and his wings snapped free, relishing the feel of air on them once again.

But instead of hearing the calls of his brothers to return home, he heard…..nothing.

Heaven was gone.

Thousands of angels, who had sung God's praises for millennia, were gone. The billions of souls who inhabited their final resting place, including souls who Castiel held dear like John and Mary Winchester, Ellen and her beautiful daughter Jo….were gone.

It made no sense, heaven couldn't be _gone_, it was impossible. But as hard as Castiel tried, as far as he flew and as hard as he screamed, it did not change.

Where heaven had been was an empty expanse of nothing, a dark hole of swirling blackness that burned his grace if he neared it. It was as if heaven had been wiped clear from the cosmos, and in its place festered a dark wound of _wrongness_.

For the first time in all of his long years of existence, Castiel was truly afraid.

He had barely had time to process the loss of heaven before things began happening on Earth. The dead reanimated, becoming something filthy, something dark.

Something not of this world.

The blackness that swirled in the void where heaven had been, consumed the bodies of the recently dead, and Castiel also finally understood the meaning of blasphemy.

These creatures, whatever they were and wherever they came from, were not of God. They had something to do with the disappearance of heaven, and now they sought to consume the earth.

Castiel would _not _let that happen. Not again.

His grace grew dimmer each day as the angel struggled to find answers. He found himself exhausted as he attempted to seek out the truth from others. He sought out creatures older than him, and much more powerful. Creatures, deities, ghosts, he tried them all. But the supernatural creatures of earth were frightened too, and many had withdrawn into hiding, retreating to places even an angel couldn't reach. Those that could fled to Hell, as if seeking comfort in the pain of fire.

At a loss, Castiel withdrew himself to the holiest places he could think of and prayed. He prayed to his Father, to his brothers. He prayed for days, knees sunk into the cold earth and head bowed. He prayed for the Winchesters, who he was too weak to seek out, he prayed for Bobby, and finally, he prayed for himself.

It was here, in the frozen wastes of Northern Russia at an old forgotten shrine, where the demon found him.

"Cas baby, we really should stop meeting like this."

Castiel's eyes snapped open, and he whirled around, angel blade at the ready. Recognizing the dark figure that stood in front of him, his wings withdrew back into his vessel, but he did not relax his stance.

"My name is Castiel. You'd do well to remember that." He said coldly.

Crowley threw his hands up in a sign of surrender. "Fine, fine. Easy. I come in peace and all that."

Castiel hunched his shoulders against the wind, eyes narrowing. "I find that hard to believe."

The demon snorted, shrugging. "Believe what you like, but I think you know why I'm here."

Castiel paused. _How much did the demon know?_ "The dead walk the earth."

Crowley laughed, his head thrown back. He was a black shape against the otherwise pristine landscape, and Castiel had the irrational thought that something as tainted as the demon should not be near such a sacred place. But nothing was sacred anymore.

The demon finally calmed himself, wiping his eye with a hand.

"Understatement, angel." He stepped forward and Castiel took one back, angel sword held in front of him. "Thanks to your two human pets, I'm overworked. Do you know how hard it is to try and manage the mess you lot left behind? Demons are running back to hell faster than I can process them. Hell is overflowing."

"How unfortunate for you." Castiel growled. The demon shrugged.

"Comes with the job description I guess. But that's not why I'm here."

The angel stiffened, and the movement did not go un-noticed.

"No need to play coy darling, I'm a demon you know. We can feel heaven just as you can feel hell. You can feel it right? Heaven has exited stage left."

Crushing grief beat against his chest, but Castiel controlled it, his features schooled into an emotionless mask. For a moment the two enemies stared at each other. Castiel's trench-coat flapped and fluttered in the breeze.

"I feel it." He finally conceded. Crowley clapped his hands together, smiling.

"Great. Now we've got _that_ out of the way, you probably want to hear what I have to say."

…

Bobby Singer was tired of this shit.

Goddamn zombies had set up shop outside in his junk yard, and the older man scowled at them through the window. He had taken out a fair few of them, but somehow they had gotten wise, retreating to the far corners of the yard where he couldn't easily pick them off with the rifle. They simply stood there, gazing towards the house, stupid rotting faces blank. What the hell were they waiting for? Him to waltz outside and put on a song and dance routine to entertain 'em?

Cursing to himself, the old hunter pulled away from the window. He had managed to reinforce the place before the situation got too bad, turning his house into a fortress. If they ever got through he planned to retreat to the panic room and shoot them like fish in a barrel as they bottlenecked down in search of him.

Until then, he had work to do.

Large dusty tomes littered the old desk as he sat down, and he frowned at them. Nothing in even _one_ of the books he had, gave him any sort of idea what he was dealing with. Stubbornly he had decided to research on. It was the only thing he could do, between dealing with the monsters outside and worrying about those goddamn Winchesters.

He was about to crack open an ancient text on Medieval voodoo, when the angel appeared in a flurry of papers.

"Son of a-" Bobby paused mid-curse to blink at the angel standing in the middle of his living room. "Castiel?"

The angel smiled at him, but it didn't reach his eyes. Bobby Singer didn't have to be a goddamn mind reader to know when bad shit was going down.

"Dean and Sam?" He asked roughly. The angel shook his head, and for a moment Bobby's stomach dropped expecting the worst.

"I'm afraid I have no idea of their whereabouts at the moment." Castiel frowned, brow furrowing as he did some sort of angel mumbo-jumbo, "But I believe they're still alive."

Bobby exhaled slowly. "Well that's somethin'. I aint heard from those two idjits since before this shit went down. But knowin' them, they're off making trouble."

Castiel still hadn't moved, and Bobby rose from the desk, grabbing two glasses off the shelf above him. Moving into the kitchen he managed to find a bottle of whiskey and poured a generous amount into each glass.

"You look like you could use a drink." He said in explanation when the angel took the glass from him, eyeing it dubiously. Bobby knocked back his in one swig, and Castiel copied him. Neither said anything about the taste of holy water in the drink.

Castiel set the glass down on the desk. "Robert, I have…found out some information. I need you to help me."

Bobby shrugged.

"I dunno Cas, as you can see I'm pretty busy around here, what with the strippers, partying and drugs I'm currently doin'." The angel actually looked around with a puzzled frown, and Bobby slapped himself mentally.

"It's a joke ya idjit." He groaned.

He fell silent as Castiel began telling him what had happened. Long after the angel finished speaking, he still found himself unable to speak.

…

It took Castiel almost three days to recover enough strength to attempt to locate the Winchesters. His grace dimmed even more with each day; the small loan of energy Crowley had given him in order to have enough strength to return to Bobby's had worn off, leaving the angel exhausted. Bobby had taken the information Castiel had given him as well as could be expected. Currently the older man was sat in the study, pouring over old manuscripts and rituals.

"I will find Dean and Sam and return them here." Castiel announced.

Bobby grunted.

"Then get your feathery holy ass in gear and quit yakking about it."

So it was that Castiel found himself on a lonely stretch of highway. It was a graveyard of vehicles now, and Castiel cast around for the reason why he had been pulled there. Something small tugged on his grace, and he paused, searching the road.

There.

She was battered and bruised, a burnt out husk that didn't resemble her previous glory, but there was no doubt of who and what she was, and even in her decaying state, she managed to stand out amongst the ruins, gleaming and proud.

The Impala.

The seats and upholstery were gone; black ashes scattered in the light breeze as it moved through the broken windows of the car. She was just a frame now, her paint cracked and peeling, her front twisted and grotesque from a collision. Castiel ran a hand reverently along her side, sensing the echoes of the Winchesters that had inhabited her. They were gone now, and he could only imagine how painful it must have been for Dean to leave her like this.

_Dean._ There was that tugging again; an insistent pull at the very core of him, and Castiel paused, concentrating on it.

Though unable to locate the brothers due to the sigils on their ribs, Castiel had always had a way of finding Dean. The moment he had reached out and held Dean's soul in his hands was the moment they also became tied to each other. Castiel had seen the broken and hurting soul of Dean Winchester and had offered a part of himself as comfort; reaching out with his grace to soothe the tortured soul. A part of him had stayed with the man, burning a piece of Castiel's own grace to Dean's soul. The angel hadn't known such a thing was possible, until Dean had complained about the mark on his shoulder.

It was through this tenuous link that Castiel knew Dean Winchester was alive.

He felt his heart lift for the first time in months, and he started forward._ Wait._ Pausing, he turned back to the Impala.

She was a sad sight to behold, and Castiel stretched out his hand, fingers brushing her bonnet. With a thought, he sent her back to the safety of Bobby's junkyard.

The exertion almost proved too much, and he fell to his knees, vision blackening as he gasped. He breathed deeply for a few moments, calming his racing heart. He felt far too human, and his stomach clenched nervously. _What will become of me?_ Pushing those thoughts aside, he stood shakily.

He did not have time for doubts. Dean and Sam were out here, and he was going to find them. The brothers were all he had left.

….

"No, no, no, no, no."

Dean's heart was racing as he reached the fallen figure. The trench-coat fanned around Castiel's inert body, his arms outstretched as if he had been dropped from the sky like a badly drawn cartoon.

Dean couldn't see past the blood, and he found himself on his knees in the dirt, grabbing at the lapels of that stupid coat.

"No, come on Cas. Come back to me. You hear me? Come back..." He was babbling as he shook the angel desperately. His mind was a jumble of thoughts, all roaring over each other and shouting. _Don't you dare leave me again you bastard, you only just got here, I have to give you a goddamn hug, Where WERE you, I missed you, please come back…_

Someone had grabbed his elbow, tugging insistently. Dean tried to shrug them off, shaking his head.

"No he's going to be fine, come on Cas..." He pleaded.

A hand was turning his face now, and Dean found himself staring into his brother's face through watery eyes. _Am I crying? What the hell is going on…Sammy can't you see, Cas found us, now he's gone…he's gone Sammy what are we going to do…what am I going to do…_

Sam's face was pale, his eyes wide as he struggled to get his brother to focus on him.

"Dean! Dean look at me! _Look at me!_"

Glazed green eyes finally managed to focus on his, and Sam breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Listen to me. He's ok Dean, the bullet just grazed him. He's just unconscious."

Dean managed a sluggish look down. His mind balked at the blood on Castiel's face, but he forced himself to look past it. There, oozing along his temple and up into his hair line was a long graze. His chest rose and fell steadily and Dean felt like curling up in a ball and crying in relief. _Oh god he's ok….he's ok….._

Sam was speaking again, slowly and patiently, his hand still firm around Dean's elbow.

"Walkers might have heard and we need to get safe. We need to get him inside Dean. Come on, I'll help you."

Dean allowed himself to be moved aside by Sam's gentle hand. Rick and Shane stood a few feet away, eyes wide and disbelieving at the scene as Sam reached forward, hoisting the unconscious angel into his arms like he weighed nothing. Castiel's head swung limply and Dean felt his knees go weak again.

"Snap out of it Dean, come on."

It was his brother's voice that cleared his mind again, and Dean nodded dumbly, following his brother as Sam set off at a gangly run for the house. Numbly Dean ran behind, eyes never leaving the inert figure his brother carried.

They pushed past the shocked others that had gathered; Andrea a pale face in the crowd as she slapped her hands over her mouth. Hershel and his family were on the porch as they approached; the old man's face a mask of anger.

"What the hell is going on out here? Who is that?"

Maggie stood beside him, eyes wide was she looked down at them. "Is he bitten?" She asked.

Dean felt a veil of red starting to descend over his vision as the shock of grief ebbed away. He could feel his face twisting in a snarl, and Maggie's eyes widened further as she backed up.

It was Sam again that saved the day.

His face was tight and anxious, but determined as he faced down the Greens.

"He's family. He's hurt and needs help and I'm giving you to the count of three to either help or get out of the way!" He snapped.

For a moment there was silence, before Hershel threw his hands up in exasperation.

"What is this place coming to? A hospital?" He muttered, turning and heading back into the house, beckoning them inside.

….


	7. Chapter 7

**Title**: The Walking Supernatural (7/16)  
**Author**: daksgirl  
**Rating**: Teen

**Pairings: **Dean/Castiel (at last! Lol!)  
**Genre**: Zombies! Crossover fic of Supernatural meets the Walking Dead.  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Warnings**: Violence, Decomposing corpses, Strong language, Adult situations  
**Word Count**: 3,991 (WIP)  
**Summary:** _AU from 5x22 Swan Song. _Sam tries to help Andrea, and Castiel reveals what's really happening to the world.

**A/N: **Ok so a few notes! First of all I was asked by a few people about the length of this story, and at the moment I'm aiming for around 16 chapters, I don't want this to drag on for too long and I have it planned out. Might end up being a little bit more depending how it goes, but that's what I'm aiming for! Secondly, the machine I mention in this chapter is very much real, and if you're interested in the physics behind it etc, type CERN into Google and read up about it. It's pretty awesome! Or PM me and I'll gladly give you some links. Thirdly, THERE IS DESTIEL IN THIS CHAPTER. It's mild, but next chapter will be full of slashy (probably terribly written) sexy times, bwhahaha. You have been warned.

…

Sam had carried the unconscious angel through the small hallways of the house, gently laying him down on the bed Hershel gestured to. It was the very bed Rick's son Carl had laid in, and there were still a few bloodied bandages lying around. Luckily the kid was back on his feet and walking around, leaving the room vacant.

Hershel didn't waste any time. Grabbing the scissors by the bed, he started slicing through the stained white dress shirt Castiel had always worn. Even in his numb state, Dean started to help, lifting the angel's arms to gently peel the trench-coat free. With a blush, Sam started unbuckling the angel's dress-trousers. Luckily for him, the angel was wearing boxers. _And that was way more than I ever wanted to know_, he thought.

Though there were a fair amount of bruises, but it seemed most of the blood the angel seemed to have caked himself in wasn't his own, and there were no bite-marks marring his pale skin. Carefully, Hershel cleaned the bullet graze with alcohol and gauze as Dean and Sam tried to re-dress the unresponsive angel in some cleaner clothes. The jeans Sam had found at the abandoned house were small enough, as was one of the t-shirts.

By the time they had finished, it was late evening. Hershel nodded to them both.

"Your friend was lucky. He should be fine once he wakes up." The older man looked back down at the inert shape on the bed. "You aint got any other friends running around the woods do you?"

Dean hadn't really moved far from Cas's side, hovering over the angel like a worried mother, checking his head and his breathing. Sam rolled his eyes mentally. _And he calls me a girl. _

"No, I think this is all of us." Sam answered. Hershel frowned.

"I hope so." He grunted. Striding towards the pile of destroyed clothes, he started to gather them all into his arms. "We'll burn these tomorrow."

Dean's head snapped up at the old man, and he straightened from where he had been checking Castiel's pulse.

"What?" He demanded.

"The clothes are ruined boy. He aint got no use for 'em now." Dean glanced down at the pile of clothing in Hershel's arms as did Sam. It was a sad sight; the trench-coat lay on top, torn and frayed, most of it stained a deep crimson red.

"Fine. But I'll keep this." Dean ground, pulling the trench free from the rest, holding it to him. "Cas'll want it back."

The old man glared at him and for a tense moment Sam was worried a shouting match would break out. After a minute of glaring, Hershel relented, something softening in his eyes.

"Alright."

Walking towards the door, he paused and shot a look back at Dean who was gazing at the ripped and frayed coat. "Remember what I said though, your friend will be fine. Stop worrying." Then he was gone.

Sam watched as Dean folded the coat meticulously in silence. Noticing he was under his younger brother's scrutiny, Dean shrugged offhandedly, placing the folded coat on the side table.

"He'll probably want to keep it. You know….be weird if he didn't have it." He muttered.

Sam nodded silently, settling deeper into the chair he occupied. He could just make out the mess of dark hair poking out from underneath the shocking white of the bandages that swathed Cas's head. The angel looked so deceptively human. _Where have you been Cas?_ Sam thought quietly, _what happened?_

Dean gravitated back towards the bed, and Sam managed a tired smile. "He's fine Dean. Hovering around him like a mother hen won't make him wake up quicker. Unless…" Sam grinned mischievously. "Why don't you give him a kiss?"

Dean scowled over at him, but Sam could see the worry weighing on his brother lift slightly at the friendly teasing. He didn't move away from the bed though, and Sam had to shake his head fondly. Dean and Castiel had always had something Sam didn't really understand. Sometimes he got the feeling that Dean didn't really get it either.

"Bite me. He was shot Sam, a centimeter more to the right and he'd had a hole in his brain. Excuse me for being worried."

_Ahh there's the snarky bitching_. Sam slapped his hands down on the chair arms, pushing himself up. His legs felt restless, the adrenaline in his system slowly filtering out and leaving him twitchy.

"But it wasn't. Even if it had, Cas is an _angel_ remember. It wouldn't kill him."

He wasn't prepared for the sad look his brother gave him as Dean turned away from the bed, running a hand through this short hair in frustration.

"Wouldn't it? You remember what he was like before we took down Lucifer; his powers aren't what they used to be. Maybe now he's human enough…" He trailed off helplessly.

Well that explained Dean's meltdown out in the field; he had really thought the angel was dead. Sam could read the guilt in his brother's shoulders and he sighed heavily.

"Dean, Cas made his own choices. It's not your fault." Dean said nothing, turning away. Apparently sharing time was over; Dean had closed off to him. _Sometimes he's so much like Dad…._Sam sighed, rubbing his face tiredly.

"I'm going to get a drink. Want anything?" He asked.

Dean shook his head and Sam slipped out of the room, closing the door with a soft click. Maybe Dean just needed some space to come down from the shock; both of them were unused to seeing the angel like that and neither wanted to see it again.

The porch door springs squeaked loudly as he pushed it open; the cool air hitting his face as the cicadas greeted him. He found himself walking back to their makeshift tent, snagging one of the water bottles from the duffels.

It was late enough that most everyone had gone to sleep; Glenn had nodded off near the fire in one of the recliners, chin nearly touching his chest as he snored. The other tents were zipped up, signaling their occupants were asleep.

Tilting the bottle to his lips, Sam paused as he noticed the still outline of Andrea, sitting a ways from camp out in the field. Her head was bowed, her arms hugging her knees, hiding her face. Slowly, Sam approached her, the grass whispering around his legs as he walked.

"Hey." Her body jerked at his voice, and she pulled her face away from the safety of her arms. She wiped hurriedly at her face, turning her face away from him.

"Hey." She said quietly. Sam settled down in the grass with her, crossing his legs. An endless inky black sky stretched overhead; bright with stars and constellations. It was truly beautiful.

"He's going to be fine." Sam offered, his voice loud in the still night, "Cas has had worse, trust me."

Andrea looked over at him, her green eyes lined with red.

"I almost killed a person Sam. Not a walker, a person. I…" She swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry Sam. I really am."

Sam smiled gently at her, reaching a hand out to touch her arm lightly.

"We all make mistakes. You were just trying to protect the group, no-one can be mad at you for that." He looked away with a slight chuckle, pulling his hand back. "Well…you might want to avoid Dean for a while, give him a chance to cool off."

Andrea managed a watery smile.

"I don't blame him. I'd be pretty pissed if some stranger I barely knew took a shot at my boyfriend too."

Sam turned back to stare at her incredulously, and her smile dropped.

"What?" She asked worriedly.

"Cas isn't…He's just…"_ just a friend._ But suddenly all Sam could see was the look of utter and abject terror on his brother's face as Cas had dropped to the ground. The broken hitch in his voice as he had grabbed the angel, pleading with him to wake up.

Sam shook his head, smiling wryly.

"Nothing."

They lapsed back into a companionable silence, watching the night sky. The stars winked down at them and Sam traced the constellations, straining to remember the different shapes and names. He had been following the path of the Big Dipper, when Andrea sighed into the silence. She was picking at the grass in front of her nervously.

"I had a sister you know." Andrea said quietly. "Amy. She was my younger sister, and I would have done anything to keep her safe."

Sam said nothing, keeping his eyes trained on the sky.

"She…she got bit. I had to…to…shoot her." Her voice was pained. "Do you know what that's like? To lose someone you love?"

Sam didn't have to think too hard about that one.

"Yes." He said simply. "I really do."

Andrea closed her eyes, tears leaving gleaming tracks down her cheeks.

"How do you cope? I feel like…I feel like the moment she died, I died too."

Sam remembered the long months when he had known Dean was dead, rotting and burning in hell for him. _Because_ of him.

"You don't. Not really. But after a while, the hole they left stops growing. You do what you have to, to get by. Get mad, be sad, do whatever it takes." He looked at her seriously. "But then you use it. You use that grief, and the anger, and you try to make the world a better place. Because that's what they would have wanted."

Andrea sniffed, wiping her tears with shaking hands. She shot a smile at him, and though weak, it was filled with genuine gratitude.

"Thank you." She said quietly.

The porch door suddenly slammed open in a screech of abused springs that echoed across the yard, and both of them jumped. Sam turned his head to see the familiar figure of his older brother gesturing to him from the porch. The idiot was smiling.

"Sammy! He's awake!" His brother yelled.

…

Castiel winced as he pressed a hand to his bandaged head.

"I do not care for being shot." He frowned.

Dean had barely stopped smiling since dragging Sam inside, and Sam was genuinely worried that his face might crack if he continued much longer.

"Don't be such a baby, it's only a graze."

Sam shot his brother a look. _Oh-ho so **now** it's only a graze Mother Hen?_ Dean stubbornly avoided his eyes and Sam had to shake his head. _Honestly Dean._ He turned back to the angel.

"What's going on Cas? What's happening?" Sam asked. The angel sobered, glancing down at the woolen blanket on the bed. Horses pranced along the edges, and Castiel picked the fabric absently.

"Heaven is gone." He finally said tonelessly.

The brothers both stared at him aghast, Dean's smile slowly dissolving.

"What?" Sam managed. Castiel continued picking at the blanket, avoiding their twin stares.

"It is gone. All my brothers, all the souls, everything just….gone."

The silence in the room was deafening.

"But…that's impossible." Sam spluttered, arms gesturing wildly in his shock. "It can't just….be gone."

Castiel finally lifted his eyes to look at both brothers; and Sam promptly wished he hadn't. Usually when Cas looked at him, he'd get uncomfortable under the angel's focused steely gaze. He had never understood how Dean could just stare back for minutes at a time. When Castiel looked at you it was like being a rabbit stuck in the headlights of a speeding car. You didn't know if you were going to get run down or spared.

Now Castiel looked like the rabbit; mowed down and destroyed. Sam never wanted to see such broken loss in those eyes ever again.

"Have you heard of the Large Hadron Collider?" The question seemed so out of the blue Sam could only blink for a minute, before his brain caught up with the conversation.

"Um…yeah I think so. Sure. Some scientists wanted to study the Big Bang right?"

Dean frowned, obviously just as lost.

"What does that have to do with anything?" He asked.

Sam released the breath he hadn't known he was holding as Castiel trained those intense eyes on his brother instead.

"It is a particle accelerator Dean, used to study the smallest particles of the universe. The first of it's kind." Castiel finally stopped absently picking at the blanket, clasping his hands together instead.

"A few months ago, scientists ran its first experiment; attempting to discover something they called the God Particle. If discovered, they believed this particle could explain the origins of life and how the universe came to be."

Dean had snorted at the mention of God, and folded his arms, body tense.

"This is all very fascinating Cas, but I'm still not seeing the point."

The angel summoned up a glare, and Sam hid a smile. _Boyfriends indeed._

"They were successful." Castiel continued. "For a brief moment, science did the impossible. Using the machine, for a few microseconds, they created the God Particle." He shook his head wearily. "In that moment, man created life. Don't you see? In that moment, man _became_ God. In less time it takes to blink, man broke every rule that binds the cosmos."

Dean still looked sullen, but uncrossed his arms. "Ok so consider us told off. Bad science. But it was only for a second right?"

The look on Castiel's face said it all. "In that microsecond, the fabric that holds our universe together weakened, allowing a small tear to form."

Sam's eyes widened with dawning realization. "Oh my god. You're talking about the walkers."

Castiel nodded, and out of the corner of his eye Sam could see Dean's whole body stiffen.

"Yes. Through this small tear, another dimension was opened to ours. An old and terrible one. Through this tear, an entity unlike anything our universe has ever seen poured through. Heaven was…" The angel trailed off, swallowing heavily.

"…vulnerable. This…_entity_ consumed it, using the energy from the souls residing there to widen the tear that had already formed. Allowing even more through." His long fingers jerked against the bed, the only outward sign of agitation the angel displayed.

"The walkers. These creatures infect the living, and slowly consume the soul of the person infected. They are fueled by it, and the more they infect, the wider the tear becomes and the more that will enter our world."

Dean was pacing. His boots scuffed the worn rug on the floor but he took no notice.

"Ok, so we hide away." He suggested. "They'll die out eventually right?"

The angel was staring at the bed again. "Cas?" Dean prompted. Castiel slowly shook his head, and Sam felt his stomach drop.

"I wish it would be that easy. But these entities are only the first wave of something much worse. After the first wave has consumed all living souls, a second will come. They will consume all plant and animal life, polluting the seas and air. Once this is complete the third and final wave will be able to pass into our world."

"They are terrible creatures of fire that will burn everything, scouring the earth and eventually destroy the entire planet. Then they will move on to other worlds until our universe has been consumed and destroyed."

Sam gaped, unable to process that information. _Dimensions? Worlds?_ It sounded like something out of a bad sci-fi movie.

"You have got to be kidding me." Dean's voice was low and strained. Castiel's eyes snapped to his face, mouth a tight rigid line.

"I would not joke about this. My brothers are all dead, and the world is in danger."

Dean floundered, hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to make sense of it.

"What about hell? That must be a lot of souls there too." He blurted.

Castiel blinked. "Hell does not function upon the same rules heaven does. God did not create hell; it formed from the sin of Lucifer's falling. When the God Particle was formed, Hell was not undone as Heaven was. For the moment, it is beyond the reach of these creatures, but even it will be destroyed eventually."

"That explains all the demons running home I guess." Dean snorted. "No offence Cas, but how do you_ know_ all this?"

"Crowley."

Sam managed an incredulous laugh. It sounded false and strangled even to his ears.

"Oh yeah cause that's a reliable source." Castiel looked at him sharply, and Sam shrunk away.

"His information is reliable, and I know it is true. He has as much to lose as anyone else."

Trying to redeem himself, Sam tried again.

"Ok, well, there has to be a way of stopping all this right? I mean… what do we do?" Sam asked.

He was suddenly terrified as the angel dropped his eyes.

"I don't know." He said quietly. "Bobby is doing his best to research what he can, but these are not beings from our plane of existence. The demon Crowley said he would contact me again when he found out more. With my waning powers all I can do is wait for him to return."

His eyes were sorrowful as he looked at both brothers in turn. "I am sorry."

Dean's jaw was clenched, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He was working towards a fight, and Sam just had no energy to deal with the whole situation.

"We're sorry too Cas." He said, interrupting Dean's inevitable bitching. _Come on man don't be a dick, Cas has lost a lot. _

He walked over to the angel, squeezing his shoulder in a sympathetic gesture, and then turned to Dean, eyes warning him to cool it.

"This is a lot to take in. I'm going to bed. In the morning we'll figure stuff out but right now I think we're all exhausted."

Dean's stance relaxed slightly and Sam breathed a silent sigh of relief. They were still doing that creepy eye staring thing, but Dean seemed to have lost most of his anger.

Sam headed towards the door, mind racing. _Great._ _We saved the world from one thing for it to suddenly become a playground for something worse_.

….

The soft click of the door shutting behind Sam seemed loud in the silence as Dean stared back at Castiel.

He couldn't stand the emptiness in Cas's eyes. It was too much, it wasn't _fair_; they had saved the world and now this… He couldn't even imagine it, what it must be like for the angel having lost his entire family. And what about Dean's? What about John and Mary Winchester, were they gone too? Dean slammed a wall up in his mind.

He couldn't think about it. He just couldn't.

Castiel had dropped his eyes, head bowed, and with a start Dean could see the wet gleam of tears on his cheeks.

The angel was hurting, and all Dean wanted to do was make it better.

Slowly, Dean sank down beside the angel on the bed, feeling at a loss. What could he say?

"So it was all for nothing. Us locking Lucifer up. The world is doomed anyways." _Oh good one dick-wad, make the grieving angel feel worse why don't you._

Castiel was silent for a moment, before suddenly reaching forward and grabbing Dean's arm, fingers digging into his shirt as if attempting to anchor him, or to reassure himself that the human was really there. His eyes glittered in the dark light, wet with tears of grief.

"No. I do not believe that. I _can't_ believe that." His voice was firm. "And you can't either."

Dean could hear the stuttering anguish hidden in the angel's voice. Unthinking, he turned to face him more fully, holding his arm out. Pausing briefly, Castiel's eyes were questioning as he shuffled forward, tentatively leaning into his side and releasing his hold on Dean's other arm.

It was an awkward hug at best, and Dean frowned. _Come on Winchester you give strangers better hugs than that._ Shifting his legs further onto the bed, he brought his other arm to wrap around the back of the angel, pulling him further into his chest.

After stiffening for a moment, the angel relaxed. He drew his arms up behind Dean's back, hands clutching the fabric of his shirt, as he rested his forehead against Dean's shoulder.

"They're gone Dean." He said brokenly. "I was afraid and ran…and now they're gone. My cowardice cost me everything."

He had never heard his angel so broken, and Dean squeezed him tighter, swallowing hard. Cas was warm against him, minute trembles seizing his body as he struggled with his emotions.

"Castiel."

Dean couldn't remember the last time he used the angel's full name, and it had the desired effect. Cas raised his head, and ignoring how close his friend's face was to his, Dean soldiered on.

"You are the most fearless bastard I have ever known. You've saved my ass more times than I can count, and no-one, could _ever_ call you a coward. That's bullshit."

A single tear moved sluggishly down the angel's cheek, and Dean had the irrational urge to reach out and wipe it away. He looked so vulnerable and broken, and Dean couldn't stand it. _He_ was supposed to be the fucked up one, not Castiel. Castiel was the strong one, the terrifying mofo, the one who dragged _his_ worthless ass from hell.

"I don't know what happened. But if you _hadn't_ left heaven, you'd be gone too. And as horrible as this whole shit-stick of a situation is, I'm grateful you did."

Dean tried to grin cockily, but judging by the faint flicker of amusement in those azure eyes, he didn't pull it off.

"We're going to do it man. We defeated the devil and we're going to defeat these stupid fuckers too, then we're going to get Heaven back, and _then_ we are going to have a goddamn vacation."

They were impossible odds and he knew it, but Castiel smiled at him. Dean stiffened as the angel's hands came up to frame his face. _What the…_

"Dean Winchester, you are the most beautiful human being I have ever known." Castiel murmured. "Thank you."

Dean looked bewildered, eyes wide as he gazed at the angel, whose face was only inches away.

"For what?" He managed.

Castiel smiled.

"For being you." He said simply, before leaning forward to press his dry lips to Dean's.

Dean seized up in shock, eyes open and disbelieving as Cas kissed him. Cas. Kissed him. Kiss. Him. Kissing. Them. Right now. _We're kissing_.

The angel pulled away, leaving Dean's lips tingling and nerves thrumming. His head was exploding with questions, demands and accusations, and he reeled for a moment.

The angel didn't look like he was sharing Dean's inner freak out.

"Cas?" Dean finally squeaked. No, no squeaking. He said in a _manly_ fashion with absolutely _no_ tremor in his voice. Yep no squeaking here. _Oh god. _ "What was that?"

The angel's eyes were glimmering with amusement, no longer wet and anguished, and Dean suddenly knew. Something clicked in his brain. Something, that had been quite happily hiding in the forgotten folds of his cranium, suddenly stood up and shouted.

He'd do anything to make Cas happy. _Anything_.

With that realization, came another: Sam had been right. He _did_ have a huge man-crush on Cas.

_Goddamit!_

"I believe I kissed you." The angel said matter-of-factly. "Unless I seriously misinterpreted human behaviour."

Dean forgot his shock and laughed, the bed squeaking slightly under their combined weight as he shook.

"Cas, did you just attempt sarcasm?"

The angel nodded shyly, and Dean felt lightheaded.

Oh god he was so screwed.

"You sad son of a bitch." There was glimpse of hurt in those eyes before Dean was pulling the angel into him by the collar of his borrowed shirt, lips desperately seeking out his again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title**: The Walking Supernatural (8/16)  
**Author**: daksgirl  
**Rating**: R

**Pairings: **Dean/Castiel  
**Genre**: Zombies! Crossover fic of Supernatural meets the Walking Dead.  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Warnings**: Graphic sex, first time, bare-backing, Top!Castiel, Bottom!Dean  
**Word Count**: 2,935 (WIP)  
**Summary:** Dean finally realizes his feelings towards Castiel.

**A/N: ****PLEASE READ**. If you are at all offended by slash male/male relationships, or graphic sex scenes, please for the love of everything, **skip this chapter**. You won't miss any plot; this chapter is shameless, shameless porn. Originally I thought "oh I'll just do a tasteful fade to black, that'll be easy." Then I was like "NO. I WANT SEX." And this happened. I'm so sorry. This is my first ever attempt at a sex scene, let alone a slashy one so…again I apologize. I even intended to have Castiel bottoming but then that somehow went out the window. It may also be the longest sex scene ever. Excuse me whilst I go hide in this hole.

…..

The room was bathed in the faint light of the moon outside; outlining the two shapes on the bed. The springs creaked slightly as they shifted, and Dean had a brief thought about the owner of said bed who might object to what they were doing, before Cas's lips were back on his.

Dean seemed unable to stop touching; his hands gently mapping the angel's back as he ran his hands underneath the soft shirt in soothing circles.

Castiel had settled on his lap, knees bracketed on either side of Dean's hips as he made it his mission to steal every breath Dean tried to take. Finally Dean had to pull away, breathing hard as he wrapped his arms around the slighter man, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

He could feel the steady heartbeat beneath the skin along his cheek, and Dean closed his eyes, nuzzling his nose into the dip of a collarbone. Castiel exhaled shakily, his hand gently carding through Dean's short hair. For a moment they stayed like that, breathing in the warm night air, clinging to each other.

It was probably the gayest moment he had ever experienced, and Dean didn't give a flying fuck.

"What do you need Cas?" He finally whispered into the silence. "Tell me what I can do." The gentle hand in his hair stilled, and the angel settled more fully onto his lap.

Dean grunted he felt the shift of hips against his own, a hard ridge nudging against his hipbone through his jeans.

His blood ran hot and fast towards his own groin. _Fuck._

The angel was shaking slightly, and Dean tightened his hold, unwilling to look up in case it somehow shattered the spell that seemed to have settled over the two of them.

"You." Castiel finally breathed; a quiet confession. "I need _you_, Dean."

His mouth went dry.

A thousand questions were suddenly on the tip of his tongue, but his mouth couldn't form a single one. _Why do you want me, how could you ever need something like me, no-one does…._

Castiel pulled him away from the safety of his neck, eyes liquid black in the dark, and he could see the raw desire in those deep swirling depths.

"I love you. I always have Dean, from the moment I held your soul in my hands." He said matter-of-factly.

_Goddamit you can't just toss shit like that out in the open_, Dean thought wildly, _I'll start believing it if you do that._

The silence stretched on as Castiel looked at him, waiting, as Dean floundered in his own mind.

"Ok." He finally managed. He wasn't even sure what he was agreeing to. _Everything, anything… anything just don't leave…._ "Ok Cas."

He couldn't say it. He could feel the words in his heart but he couldn't say them out loud. Like somehow they would then have the power to take Cas away from him, like they had taken everyone else from him.

"You are thinking. It is…distracting." Castiel frowned.

Dean laughed lowly, the bed creaking beneath him.

"Right, no thinking. Come on, if we're doing this, clothes off."

Castiel moved off his lap, and a small part of Dean was disappointed at the loss.

Sliding off the bed the angel tugged the shirt over his head with absolutely no hesitation and sent the article of clothing sailing across the room. Before the shirt was even on the floor, his hands were unbuttoning his borrowed jeans, shucking the material down his thighs.

Dean could only watch, mouth opening and closing as the angel stood before him, completely naked and not at all self-conscious.

_That is way hotter than it should be._

At Dean's silence and lack of movement, a flicker of uncertainty passed over Castiel's face.

"Dean?" He asked.

His name startled him back to reality, and Dean shook himself, standing to pull off his t-shirt as well.

"So um…how do you want to…? I mean…" Dean trailed off awkwardly, t-shirt in his hands.

God he didn't know what he was doing. He'd never slept with a man, not like this. He didn't even know if he _could_ do this.

Castiel seemed to understand, and approached him, smiling gently. He took the shirt from Dean's hands, tossing it somewhere behind him and his fingers rested along the waistband of Dean's jeans, slipping slightly inside to gently touch the warm skin.

"Do you trust me?" Their forehead's rested against each other, noses brushing.

Dean swallowed again. "Yes."

The angel leant forward, kissing him with devastating sweetness.

"Then relax." He murmured against Dean's mouth, and Dean inhaled sharply as those questing fingers popped his jeans open and moved inside.

It had been a long time since anyone had touched him like that, long before the whole Lucifer shit-storm, and the fact that it was _masculine_ fingers confidentially touching him, _Castiel's_ fingers….well he wasn't sure how long he'd last. Together they managed to get his jeans off, and those too were thrown somewhere.

"Cas, should I be worried you know what you're doing?" He asked cockily as the angel moved him towards the bed, Dean sinking down with a grunt as the mattress hit the back of his thighs.

Cas's eyes glimmered with amusement. "I've been watching mankind for a long time Dean. I've…picked up a few things."

Dean grinned back. "Pervert."

He inhaled sharply as Castiel sank to his knees, warm hands reaching out to run up his calves towards his knees. Suddenly nervous again, Dean licked his lips and the angel's eyes tracked the movement, his own darkening further.

"If…if we're…I mean we need…." He jerked as those hands slid further, sweeping up to palm his ass. "Lube Cas!" He barked, face flushing red.

Castiel had moved forward, kissing down his throat and biting over the pulse point as Dean squirmed.

"I said to trust me Dean." He murmured against Dean's fevered skin, and the hunter bit off a curse, arching up against him as the angel slid further down, running his tongue into the hollow above Dean's collarbone before moving on to his chest. He felt the angel's hands stroke up his thighs, sliding around the back of them to coax them open and his brain short-circuited.

Castiel was going to fuck him. Oh god he was going to _let_ him. Not only that, but he wanted it so bad he was aching. How long had they been working towards this? Months? Years?

A sharp nip of teeth brought him back to the present, and he groaned brokenly as he felt a tongue lick the reddened flesh, soothing it in apology.

"You're thinking again."

Dean threw a breathy grin to the ceiling.

"Kind of overwhelmed here."

"You have nothing to fear." Castiel murmured. "Not with me Dean."

At a loss for words, Dean moved forward, his tongue tracing the seam of Castiel's chapped lips. They opened under the onslaught, allowing Dean to take what he needed, tongues gliding wetly together.

His fingers trailed up the inside of Dean's thighs, and the hunter shuddered, fingers threading into the dark mess Cas called hair, gripping the angel's head in place.

For a moment the angel only teased him, waiting for his tense body to relax, and Dean pressed harder against his mouth, desperately grateful for the angel's patience. When the trembling in his thighs had subsided slightly, the angel pushed him gently further onto the bed; onto his back.

Dean stared up wildly at the creature hovering above him, and Castiel smiled; lips swollen.

"Relax." He whispered, and suddenly there were fingers inside him, sliding into the tight clutching heat of his ass. The angel's mouth was back on his, swallowing the cry that had threatened to claw out of his throat.

Castiel was patient, gently moving and scissoring in an undulating motion that made Dean feel lightheaded and dizzy.

The burning stretch of it faded after a moment, and a sure hand stroked along his flank as the fingers inside of him crooked.

Colors burst across his vision and Dean gasped as Castiel found that bundle of nerves inside him and pressed. He hissed and bucked his hips as the angel continued his gentle stroking, actually _smirking_ down at him.

If he got any harder he was going to _explode_ and Cas would have to tell a crestfallen Sam how his big brother had imploded in a ball of flame, all thanks to some talented fingers.

"You're a goddamn tease Cas." He growled, his breath coming in short pants, sweat gliding down his forehead into his eyes. The room was too damn hot and close, his skin too tight, stretched across his bones.

Castiel crooked an eyebrow at him, looking more than a little wrecked himself as he patiently worked Dean open with assured strokes.

Dean squirmed, wrecked moans spilling from his throat. The fingers shifted inside him, a third and fourth joining the party. The very same fingers he had seen exorcise demons and grasp a blade, were now playing him like some goddamn instrument, plucking at his nerves that hummed and sang in response. And Jesus Christ he _loved_ it.

"Come on." Dean growled. He wouldn't last much longer if Cas kept this up, and the angel seemed to understand, shifting himself more fully onto the bed.

Dean gasped as the fingers left him, grabbing the angel's biceps hard. His fingernails dug into the firm muscle and left crescent moon dents, but the angel didn't even flinch.

This was it. They were going to do this. Dean's heart pounded in his chest, and for a stupid moment he worried everyone could hear its struggling beating; that it would wake up everyone in the house and the tents outside.

Emotions were swirling in his chest, and Dean struggled under them, needing the angel to understand, _to know._

"Cas?" His voice sounded strange even to his ears, broken and needy.

The angel kissed him again, and Dean dug his fingers harder into his arms, trying to anchor himself to the moment. To reassure himself that this was _real_.

"I'm here Dean." He murmured, his rich baritone doing absolutely nothing to calm the fire racing through Dean's body. The angel was kneeling between his spread thighs, making room for himself, and Dean's body sang with the expectation of what was to come.

Dean felt so very vulnerable, spread out before the angel, to do with as he pleased. There would be no going back from this, never, and Dean found himself weak at the thought.

Castiel's hands were tilting his hips forward and Dean started as he felt something soft slide under his ass. A pillow. _Cas, you magnificent bastard._ Dean breathed deeply, trying to calm himself and make sense of his swirling emotions.

"You know, don't you Cas?" He finally ground, his breath hitching as he felt the hard nudge of the angel against him. "You gotta know. I…I'm not good at this. But…you _know_ right?"

Castiel shushed him with a kiss, and Dean could feel the gentleness in it, the absolute and complete _affection_ that made him want to cling to the angel and never let go.

"I know Dean." He whispered against his cheek, lips moving forward to ghost over his brow, moving down to place a feather light kiss over each eye lid. "I know."

It was too much, too heartbreakingly tender, and Dean shifted his hips against the angel, suddenly smiling wickedly.

"Come on then." He challenged, suddenly needing the angel to just _take._ To pound him until he couldn't remember his name, until he could forget about the apocalypse and everything; until the tightening in his chest, every time he looked at the stupid angel, just went away.

Castiel wasn't about to let him off that easily, and instead kissed him again, slowly easing his way, inch by agonizing inch, into the hunter's body.

Dean threw his head back; eyes squeezed shut and mouth gasping as the angel pushed inside him.

When he was fully seated within him, Castiel paused, kissing any part of Dean's face he could reach, whispering words of endearment and encouragement.

The ache and burn of something too large in a place it shouldn't be, eased, and Dean exhaled shakily, relaxing slowly. Castiel still didn't move, his hands gliding in soothing circles along the outside of Dean's spread thighs.

"Are you alright?" He asked quietly, and Dean felt his body jerk at the complete and utter _broken_ rasp in his voice.

_Dean_ had done that. He was undoing the angel's grief-stricken emptiness and filling it with himself.

Dean managed a jerky nod, not trusting himself to speak. He shifted his hips and felt Castiel jerk inside him; the angel gasping sharply above him. Slowly he thrust his hips forward, and the dull ache suddenly morphed into something much better; something _amazing_.

Dean was breathing heavily again, eyes slightly unfocused as the angel moved slowly, withdrawing, and then pushing deeper into his body.

His face flushed as Castiel braced his arms on either side of Dean's shoulders, hips forcing Dean to spread his thighs wider. His eyes widened and he choked off a whimper, eyes squeezing shut as his legs lifted instinctively when the angel pulled at them, wrapping around the narrow hips pushing into him. Dean's fists bunched in the rough blanket beneath him, cheeks flushed a deep red at the new position.

_Jesus Christ this is hot._ He had expected to feel embarrassed at being taken like a girl, spread out like so many of the women Dean himself had seduced, but it was nothing like that. This was…this was…

_Home._

His breath shuddered in his throat, and he furiously bit off his keening cries, trying to keep quiet as the angel thrust into him, touching that spot within him that set his blood roaring through his veins like a freight train.

Castiel was gazing at him with open awe, his breath coming in short gasps of surprise, like he couldn't believe he was allowed this, that they were really doing this.

Dean grabbed his head to tug him down into another filthy open mouthed kiss, just to stop him _looking_, nerves jerking and humming as the angel let out a wrecked moan against his swollen lips.

Dean's fingers carded through damp dark hair as the angel broke away, burying his face in the hollow of Dean's neck.

Dean gasped, eyes turned up to the ceiling as Castiel's hips rolled, the pace quickening. His breath was coming in small pants and groans, and he bit his lower lip fiercely trying to stifle the sounds. Hershel probably wouldn't take too kindly to discovering two dudes bumping uglies in his bedroom, but he found himself not really caring.

The angel was murmuring nonsense; words in a language Dean didn't know, and he found himself responding, gasping words into the darkness of the room. He could hear things like _yes_, _like that_, _please don't stop, come on_…

Those slim hips continued to snap into him, and he could feel he was close; his nerves lit up, fire racing along his skin and sparking behind his eyes.

By the way the angel's hips stuttered, he wasn't far behind, and Dean urged him on, lips pressed to his ear as he panted into the curve of Dean's shoulder. The angel mouthed the delicate skin at the base of his throat, and Dean was lost; biting his lip hard enough to draw blood as he came; blood roaring in his ears.

Castiel muffled his own cry, nose bumping into Dean's as he sought his mouth in the dim light, tongue darting between teeth to claim his mouth as fully as he had claimed Dean's body. For a split second, as Dean opened his eyes, he thought he saw the shadow of wings arching across the ceiling.

They lay still, both panting in the darkness and slick with sweat.

Dean's legs slid bonelessly from the angel's hips, splaying open. With a grunt, Castiel pulled out, sitting up to look between them.

Suddenly self-conscious, Dean slammed his legs together narrowly avoiding hitting Castiel in the face as he scuttled into a sitting position. He flushed a deep red as he came down from his orgasm high, and the reality of what they had just done sank in.

"Um…"

Castiel was smiling at him again, shaking his head. He reached out a hand and took hold of Dean's arm, pulling the flailing hunter back to him.

"Dean Winchester you will not hide from me."

Dean put up a half-hearted fight, before sighing heavily as the angel attempted to clean both of them up with something Dean strongly suspected was left over bandage. _Gross._

Satisfied, the angel tossed the ruined bandage somewhere in the vicinity of the discarded t-shirts, stretching out on the bed. Dean stared at him with wide eyes as the angel, still apparently not at all bothered by nudity, lay down, opening his arms with a clear _get-over-here_ gesture.

Dean blinked. "Dude we are not spooning."

Castiel pulled a very alarmingly convincing, Sam-bitchface.

"Dean, I was just inside you. I hardly think spooning will threaten your masculinity more."

Dean made a face. "Don't say that."

Castiel smirked at him, an honest to God _smirk._

Great, he had finally corrupted the angel.

"What _inside you_? Would you prefer 'screwed you senseless?' Or perhaps 'made love tenderly?'" Castiel asked.

Scowling bitterly, Dean allowed the angel to pull him into his embrace.

"I'm not sure about the 'senseless' part." He grouched, but his heart clenched at the glittering happiness in Cas's eyes.

Made love tenderly, indeed.

"Well I suppose I will have to try harder next time." The angel remarked, and Dean's pulse jumped in his throat.

Oh _hell yeah_ there'd be a next time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Title**: The Walking Supernatural (9/16)  
**Author**: daksgirl  
**Rating**: NC-17

**Pairings: **None really this chapter  
**Genre**: Zombies! Crossover fic of Supernatural meets the Walking Dead.  
**Spoilers:** Let's just say all Season 2 of Walking Dead. Used some actual dialogue again.  
**Warnings**: Violence towards a minor, mentions of child abuse (all past, but could be a trigger for some), mentions of a character expressing racist thoughts including one use of the N word (made me uncomfortable to use but he said it on the show so I was trying to stay IC).  
**Word Count**: 3,869 (WIP)

**Summary:** Daryl remembers a hunter that reminds him of the Winchesters, and Dale and Glenn might be in trouble.

**A/N: **Guys, I cannot thank you all enough for the reviews you've been leaving me. I'm addicted to them like a crack-head is addicted to…well crack! Hope you all had a great thanksgiving if you celebrate it as well! This chapter was a bitch to write, I was trying to get inside Daryl's head and man it's _hard_. I don't know much of Daryl's back story, so this is just how I personally interpret his character. I've underlined some warnings in this chapter as it could be a potential trigger for some.

…..

The sun was hidden behind a group of swollen black clouds that squatted low in the sky; the air much cooler than it had been. The wind whistled through the trees, moving across the fields and forcing the grasses to ripple before it. The group had secured the tents with extra pegs, tying down anything that flapped in the breeze.

Daryl could feel it. _Storm is comin'_.

He watched the activity of the camp for a moment; everyone doing menial tasks of their own now that Sophia was back safely. Rick was grilling something, Carl peering up whilst his father spoke to him, ruffling his hair. Sophia sat nearby with her ma and Lori, all three scrubbing the dirty dishes from the night before.

After the shock of the new arrival everyone had been on edge; all expecting a herd of walkers to suddenly appear at any given moment. None had.

Turning back to the fence, Daryl toed the line of salt he had helped the Winchester's lay down. For the moment it was still intact; the salt low enough to the ground and protected by the taller weeds that the wind hadn't managed to blow it away. If it rained it wouldn't last though, and Daryl frowned at it contemplatively. He didn't understand what it good it would do, but so far they hadn't had any trouble from any walkers, and he'd rather be a superstitious freak and trust the brothers, than not.

The porch door opened with a screech, and Daryl glanced back up, recognizing Dean Winchester as he moved down the porch stairs. He turned and looked behind him, saying something Daryl couldn't make out. Another figure followed him more slowly, and Daryl straightened as he recognized the man Andrea shot.

He had thought he was a goner for sure. He had looked like some kind of zombie tax-accountant from the brief glimpse Daryl got of him as Sam rushed by last night, all covered in blood, head bouncing like a ragdoll as he dangled lifelessly in the taller man's arms. But there he was, up on his feet and walking round. You had to respect a man that could take a wallopin', then get up and walk it off.

Some of the activity around camp stopped, and Daryl could see Andrea hesitantly move forward, twisting her hands worriedly.

She was saying somethin' to Dean, but judging by the tight line of his shoulders he wasn't ready to forgive her just yet. The smaller guy placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, saying something and the man stepped aside begrudgingly.

Andrea was gesturing to the new guy, and after a while of the two talking, Daryl heard her laugh.

Curious he wandered a bit closer. At Andrea's laugh, the other women had abandoned their tasks to approach as well, and suddenly Daryl could barely see the man as the women surrounded him. Craning his head a little, he could finally see the man's face, and understood why the women were so interested to greet the new arrival.

Now Daryl certainly weren't no queer, but even _he_ could tell that the man was the kind women must just swoon over. Pale skin, dark messy hair, deep blue eyes, and he could hear the tones of a deep gravelly voice. The guy was like damn sex on legs.

Even Lori, a married woman infatuated with her husband, was smiling at him flirtatiously, one hand fiddling with her hair.

Dean was a constant presence at the man's side, secretly glaring at Andrea and answering some of the questions about the man. If his hand lingered too long on the small of the man's back, and kept throwing him bedroom eyes, Daryl didn't notice.

Finally the group had found out enough and had returned to their tasks. Dean sat his friend down at the picnic table, where Dale was already perched, fiddling with some silverware. Daryl was close enough now for the wind to carry bits and pieces of the conversation to him, and he watched as they shook hands.

"I'm Dale-"

"Castiel."

"Glad you're alright-"

"Thank you-"

"Come on Cas, we gotta-"

The wind changed direction and Daryl lost the voices. _Castiel?_ Well if that weren't a weird name. Probably from a good god-fearin' family, judgin' by his well spoken voice. _Everything I definitely aint._

Daryl was glad the man was ok. The whole group had been spooked at how close it had been, and Daryl found it hard to forget the way both brothers had looked as they hurried their friend to the house. Dean was explaining something to Castiel, and Daryl noted the open look of fondness that passed between the two men.

No-one had ever looked at Daryl that way.

Daryl moved back towards the salt lines, leaving the two their privacy. It niggled at him though, and he found himself frowning at the ground.

Even in the group he had travelled and fought with, he didn't really feel like he was a part of it, or he belonged. They relied on him sure, but no-one really _liked_ him. Carol came close, but sometimes he just thought it was 'cause she was a mother; they was programmed to like people.

Sometimes he could hear Merle in his head, yellin' at him that he shouldn't trust nobody, that only family mattered.

Yet…he trusted the Winchesters. For some reason he couldn't put a finger on, he just did. There was something about them that tugged at his memory, and unbidden, the image of an old hunting lodge rose unchecked in his mind.

He remembered it. Back when he was a young boy and his daddy had once stayed sober long enough to actually take him hunting up in the mountains. Merle had come too; it had been one of the few times his older brother hadn't been in some sort o' trouble or another. It was the closest he got to a happy family memory, and _damn_ if that wasn't tragic.

…

The lodge was old and dusty; cobwebs stretched between the corners along the ceiling, and the faint smell of mildew seemed to permeate everything, but Daryl reckoned it was pretty neat. He'd never been on a vacation, never stayed the night anywhere but home, and the young boy was thrumming with pent-up energy and excitement.

Merle was sulking, upset he had to leave his current honey behind so he could come along and "babysit the drunk and the dummy".

Daryl didn't understand his brother much. A good ten years older, Merle had always been an intimidating figure; never wanting to join his brother's playing or roughhousing. Instead, the moment Merle figured out how to hot-wire the old man's truck he'd left; and only came home when the cops dragged him.

The lodge was sprawled crookedly on the top of a mountain, and had a pretty darn impressive view of the lush valley below; _if_ you were tall enough to look out the window. Daryl wasn't yet, and he had slipped out of the room he was sharing with his brother to find a better advantage point.

Animals gazed down at him as he trotted down the winding wooden corridors; glassy eyes blank as their mouths gaped open. The full body of a female grizzly lunged at him from the shadows, and Daryl giggled nervously in the damp air. The thing was old and neglected; patches of fur had peeled away to revel the stuffing beneath, and one of the glass eyes had been lost, giving the grizzly more of a confused squint than a look of pure rage.

Daryl puffed his narrow chest out, growling at it menacingly. The stuffed grizzly continued to squint at him and he laughed, poking it in the muzzle. The lobby opened off to the left, and Daryl left the bear to continue on his boyish quest.

His eyes gleamed with excitement as he noticed the sofa, leant up against a huge cracked window to the right of the huge oaken welcome desk. In a flurry of lanky limbs, he clambered onto it, scuffed bony knees digging into the musty fabric as he pressed his face up to the window. It was grey outside, and he sighed in disappointment. The mist hung too heavily over the valley for him to see much.

The bell on the desk dinged, and Daryl glanced over to see two men standing at the desk. They were dressed pretty much like any other hunter up in the mountains, but it was their conversation that caught young Daryl's attention.

They were conversing in hushed tones, and with the curiosity of the young, Daryl scooted to the edge of the sofa, cocking an ear.

The smaller man twisted his thin face in a grimace, scratching his lanky brown hair nervously as he shifted from foot to foot.

"Goddamit Earl we been scourin' this shithole for close t'a four days. No sign of the bastard. Maybe it _was_ just a bear-"

The other man snorted. He was much larger than the first, broad in stature and barrel-chested. He was a black man, dark hair cut close to his head with hints of grey at his temples. His face was bearded, silver beginning to tinge the edges of otherwise jet black hair. Daryl stared at him with barely concealed curiosity.

Merle always went on about the blacks, calling them all sortsa names that Daryl didn't understand, but he knew weren't nice. He didn't see nuffin' wrong with 'em. They looked just like people to him.

"D'ya really think that Hank? It aint ever _just_ a bear. No, it's here alright. Reckon this windigo is up in that ridge we saw yesterday. No-where else it could be."

Both fell silent as the clerk appeared. It was a plump woman with a permanently bored expression pinned on her plain face, and she assigned them rooms and handed over their keys with barely a word.

Daryl's curiosity had been captured. _What's a windigo?_ Sounded like something dangerous and suddenly seemed a lot more exciting than squirrels or deer.

The two men turned around, and Daryl pretended he had been looking at something on the sofa. His daddy had always said no-one likes a peepin' Tom sticking their noses in other people's business.

Too late, the scary lookin' black man had noticed him listening.

Daryl cringed on the sofa as the man approached him, his heavy boots thudding along the wood floor. But no angry words or smack was forthcoming, and after a moment of cringing, Daryl opened his eyes to find the man crouching in front of him. His rich brown eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiled, and for some reason Daryl was reminded of his mother, god rest her soul.

"You goin' out huntin' with your pa, son?" The man asked. His voice was deep and rough with a southern drawl. Daryl could only manage a shy nod. The man smiled again, reaching forward to ruffle his hair in a fond gesture and Daryl had frozen, unsure how to respond.

"You be careful out there. There's a grizzly on the loose killin' men. Stay away from Blackwater ridge and stick to the flat lands ok? Lottsa deer down there that you and your pa can git."

He had meant to ask what they were looking for, if it was that windigo thing up on Blackwater ridge, but before he could, Merle was there, grabbing his arm hard enough to bruise.

He was shouting at the man, mean things, and Daryl had cowered. The man didn't say a word, merely straightening and continuing to look at Daryl with those nice eyes as his brother dragged him away.

Merle's fingers dug into his arm as he dragged him down the hall, past the squinting grizzly and staring animals. Daryl tried to protest, to say the man had only been trying to be nice, but Merle whirled on him, hauling his arm forward hard enough the young boy cried out.

Merle smacked him then, the blow stinging across his cheek, and Daryl bit his lip, eyes watering.

"Don't you talk back t'a me ya little shit." He growled. "As if it aint bad enough I gotta haul that worthless drunken lout's shit around, you go runnin' off chattin' to a pair of fruits, and a _nigger_ at that."

Daryl felt a hot rush of rebelliousness rising in his stomach, and defiantly, he fought to wrench his arm away from his brother.

"He was only tryin' to warn me Merle, aint a crime to care bout people-"

The second strike hurt more than the first, and Daryl felt the fight drain out of him. He trembled under his brother's glare, wishing he hadn't run his mouth.

"You shut up or I'm gonna kick yer teeth in." Merle snarled. "Aint nobody gonna care for you except me. You got that? No-one else cares 'bout _you_."

The older boy snorted and Daryl winced as his brother's fingers dug welts into his arm.

"Look at you! Nobody will _ever_ care 'bout you. Why should they? Some worthless liddle runt with no mama and a drunk for a pa." He shook him hard, and Daryl felt his teeth clack together. "I'm all ya got, little brother. Don't you _ever_ give me no sass back ya hear?"

Much later, Daryl had sat quietly in the dark, nursing a black eye and split lip. Merle lay asleep next to him, snoring loudly and occasionally grunting into the pillow.

Sometimes, and he always felt bad for thinking it, Daryl wished his brother would go back to juvie and just never come back. He always felt bad afterwards, and would sit in the dark straining to remember the prayers his mama used to say to him. But his mama had been dead nearly six years, and he couldn't remember much of her.

So he sat there, instead praying that at least if he was goin' to hell for thinkin' bad things, there might be someone there he'd know.

In the morning his daddy had stumbled into the room stark raving drunk; he'd found the open bar downstairs. Merle and him started fighting and Daryl had hidden in the closet, staying out of the way as the two screamed and raged at each other.

They never did do any hunting. They went home the next day and Merle disappeared in a haze of drugs and girls for close to a month.

Daryl still remembered the hunters advice though, and his kind eyes. Every time he went in the forest after that, he stayed away from the high ridges and mountains, keeping to the flatter forests and grassland.

….

Daryl was jerked out of his memories as there was a good-natured shout. His feet had carried him back to camp, and he blinked as he found himself outside his tent. Dean was looking towards the edge of camp, and after a moment the tall form of Sam had joined the two on the table, remarking loudly about having a good night's sleep, alone. Dean ducked his head, snapping something back as he shifted uncomfortably on the wooden bench and the taller man laughed loudly, sinking down to join them.

Sam and Dean were brothers. They were what brothers should be, not only bound by blood but they were also…..friends. They loved each other, it was obvious in every word and look, and Daryl realized that's how brothers should be; lookin out for each other. Not like….

Daryl shook himself. _What's the point on dwellin' on old shit?_ He growled at himself, one hand pushing open the flap to his tent. He had one foot inside, but paused, finding himself looking back at the three at the table.

The third man, Castiel, wasn't their brother, but they treated him like one, all three talking and laughing together like a family. It didn't make no sense; Merle had always yelled that there was nothing else in the world but blood. And in Daryl's experience, blood was bad, full of anger and yelling and blame.

"Hey Daryl, man!" Daryl froze at his name. Shit, there he was being a peepin' Tom all over again. Jesus when would he learn?

Dean had spotted him and was waving him over. Daryl swallowed hard, letting the tent flap fall closed as he approached cautiously.

Dean thumped the empty seat next to him. "I was just telling Cas bout you, that you're one helluva shot with that bow of yours. Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"

The other two had turned to look at him expectantly and Daryl felt a flutter of nervousness in the pit of his stomach. _Why do y'a want to know anythin' bout me?_

As if sensing his hesitation, the new guy leant forward, something soft in his face. "I would very much like to hear the tale."

_Jesus 'is eyes are blue_, Daryl thought numbly.

Slowly Daryl sank down to join them, Sam shifting over to make room and smiling at him encouragingly. For a moment, Daryl thought of that hunter all those years ago.

That's what it was; the Winchesters looked at him the same exact way. Like they actually _cared._

He cleared his throat nervously. "Well uh…guess it all started when…."

And for a while, Daryl felt like a part of something.

…..

Dale groaned as he climbed the stairs into the RV, his joints popping. Why couldn't the apocalypse had decided to occur when he was a younger man? These days he felt like he could hardly keep up with everyone. He paused as he noticed the young man sat pensively at the table, fingers fiddling with the dog-eared cover of an old paperback Dale had dug out of the trunk.

"Glenn? You ok?"

The young man jumped, smiling sheepishly as he noticed Dale.

"Oh, hi Dale. Sorry I was just-" He motioned to the book. "Looking for something to read."

Dale snorted, putting down the box of clean utensils he had been carrying, on the counter. It clattered noisily in the small enclosed space of the RV.

"No I'm sorry. If I had known the end of the world was nigh, I would have brought better books."

Glenn nodded, fingers still tapping the cover. Dale hid a smile. _Man kid you are lousy at hiding emotions_.

"Wanna tell me what's going on?" He asked. Glenn looked at him with wide eyes.

"What? Nothing's wrong! Wh…why would you think that?" He forced a laugh.

Dale merely arched an eyebrow at him, and the man crumpled, shaking his head forlornly.

"You're old, right? You know things...so…what if somebody told you something that somebody else should know-"

Dale rolled his eyes. "For the love of everything Glenn, stop being dramatic and spit it out!"

Glenn continued to look at him with wide eyes, mouth opening and closing.

"Lori's pregnant and there's something in the barn." He finally blurted.

Dale blinked. "Oh."

Glenn groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I am a horrible person. I can't keep secrets for the life of me, why does everyone assume I can?"

Dale shook his head. "Ok wait a minute. How do you even _know_ these things?"

Glenn shrugged, face still in his hands. "Lori asked me to pick up a pregnancy test. And last night when I was going to meet Maggie in the barn she freaked out, saying I can't go in there."

"Why were you meeting Maggie in the barn?" Dale asked bewildered.

The kid looked up at that, and the bashful silence was all Dale needed.

"Oh son you didn't." Glenn smiled sheepishly and Dale groaned. "Did it occur to you about how her father might feel about this? He's our host you know!"

Glenn looked at the ground, shrugging. "He doesn't know."

"See it stays that way." Dale grumped. "Last thing we need is an angry father aiming a shotgun at us and pushing us out."

The second part of what Glenn had said hit him then, and the older man frowned. "What makes you think something's in the barn? Probably animals. Chickens maybe."

Glenn looked troubled. "Well after she freaked out, and everyone was asleep, I went out there. There were weird noises man, like shuffling. It sounded like…" He trailed off.

Dale sighed. It was probably nothing but… "Show me."

…

The two looked at the barn door dubiously. The barn was set a little off the main property and looked pretty old; the paint peeling along old splintering wood. The large doors yawned up above them. It looked like an old store-house, maybe for hay or grain.

"I don't hear anything." Dale remarked. Glenn shook his head, taking his baseball cap off to run a hand through his sweaty hair.

"I'm telling you I heard something."

"Heard what?" The two whirled around to find Shane frowning at them. "Saw you two head out here all on your own. Not a wise move."

Since his return from the medicine run that had cost Otis his life, it was like something was off about Shane. Almost as if darkness had seized hold of him. It put everyone on edge, especially Dale.

"Um…" He managed. Glenn, damn him, broke at the first glare sent his way.

"There's something in there. I think Hershel is hiding something."

Nothing flickered in Shane's eyes, and Dale shuddered. That's what un-nerved him, the complete lack of emotion the ex-cop now seemed to show. Like everyone and everything was expendable. It made him nervous. He still hadn't forgotten the moment Shane had leveled his gun at Rick's back. His eyes had looked the same then.

"Well then let's open it." Shane ground, striding towards the door. It was only a simple wooden slat keeping the large door closed, and Dale made a sound of protest.

"But what if it's dangerous?" Glenn said for him, taking a step back as Shane grabbed the wood.

"Yeah like who would keep anything dangerous in a barn?" Shane snorted, sliding the board free.

…


	10. Chapter 10

**Title**: The Walking Supernatural (10/16)  
**Author**: daksgirl  
**Rating**: NC-17

**Pairings: **hints at Dale/Andrea, Dean/Castiel undertones.  
**Genre**: Zombies! Crossover fic of Supernatural meets the Walking Dead.  
**Spoilers:** Character death that happened in the comic I guess? Apart from that nothing. We're in AU/AR territory now!  
**Warnings**: character deaths (two of the WD crowd)**, **graphic violence, violence towards a (undead) child.  
**Word Count**: 4,200 (WIP)

**Summary:** The group is in for a nasty surprise.

**A/N **I spent most of last night researching ancient Sumarian. Why? Because I am apparently a freak who is also a perfectionist and even though I could make up my own language I wanted to be technical. Sigh. The ritual mentioned in this chapter is an actual Sumarian one, though I mashed it up a bit and is called "Charm against the hordes of demons." I've included an English translation at the end of the chapter if anyone is interested. Also, there are some **character deaths** in this chapter! Because I'm lazy and there are too many characters and it's not a zombie apocalypse if someone doesn't die. Also, also, I know that CERN and the particle accelerator are originally in Geneva, but for the purposes of this story I've moved it to Illinois, where there is also a particle accelerator in real life, just smaller.

…..

"-so there I was, up shit creak with no paddle, and that damn squirrel just sat there. Was like it was grinnin' at me and laughin'."

Dean laughed, clapping a hand on Daryl's shoulder. "Dude, I would have been too."

Daryl smiled uncertainly back. There was something about the guy that reminded Dean too much of a younger Sammy; uncertain and seeking approval. It made the big brother in him come to the surface which was ridiculous; Daryl was probably older than him, and was one hell of a badass. He didn't need looking after, but a part of Dean really wanted to.

Sam huffed, blowing the hair out of his eyes. "Huh, you should hear what happened the first time our dad took Dean hunting…"

Sam deliberately ignored Dean's death stares, launching into the tale with gusto, causing Dean to groan and hide his face in his hands.

A warm hand squeezed his thigh reassuringly under the table, and Dean raised his head to shoot a crooked grin at the angel next to him. Castiel smiled softly back, his thumb rubbing small circles along the rough denim.

The stubborn angel had torn off the bandage from his head that very morning, proclaiming he was fine and didn't need to be kept in bed. Dean had spent a panicked first half of the morning attempting to hunt down the clothing that got discarded the previous night and trying to make the room presentable.

He found his shirt eventually, draped over the back of a night table, and his jeans under the bed. The bed itself was a mess, and Dean had nearly had a seizure at what Hershel might say. That was until Cas suggested they just strip the whole bed clean of linen and let it soak; it was bloodstained and needed cleaning anyways.

_Crisis averted_. Now all he had to do was try and walk normally and no-one would know.

He hadn't been prepared for everyone to practically swamp them as they finally wandered outside. Andrea had been the first to approach, pleading forgiveness. Dean had been ready to rip her a new one but Cas had given him that _look_. The_ I-am-an-angel-of-the-lord-so-I-know-best_ one, so he had backed down begrudgingly.

Cas didn't have any hard feelings towards the apologetic blonde, and the two had chatted together relatively amiably. As the other women drifted over Dean found himself twitchy and frowning at them; not liking the attention they were showering the angel with. _Jealous bitch, thy name is Dean._

Castiel squeezed him again, and Dean came back to earth just in time to hear Daryl guffaw loudly as Sam grinned at him, obviously just having delivered the punch line that painted Dean in a less than manly light.

Scowling, Dean pointed a finger at his little brother. "Oh it is ON. This one time we were out in-"

A scream interrupted him, and all of the men turned to Carol. The woman's eyes were wide, hand to her mouth as she pointed shakily towards the field past the yard.

Glenn and Dale were sprinting up the track towards the yard, dust rising behind them. Both men were running hard as if their lives depended on it, and Dean stood slowly, eyes straining to see through the dust behind them.

Something moved.

Dean's eyes widened. "Shit!"

Rick had dropped his spatula where he had been grilling some hot dogs as he gaped at the scene. Pushing Carl towards Lori who had emerged from the tent, he shouted something at them, already running towards the RV and the weapons stored there. Hershel had taken most of the fire arms from the group, leaving only the rifle for whoever was on watch, and two small handguns which were kept in the safety of the RV. For exactly _who's_ safety was debatable, especially now they found themselves needing them.

The brothers had kept quiet about their own weapons, unwilling to hand over the guns. The run-in with the demons had reminded them that a lapse in judgment could be the last thing they'd ever do, and they had hidden their own small arsenal in their makeshift tent; keeping the revolver on one of them just in case.

Sam was on his feet, yanking the revolver from the back of his jeans as Dean dove for the tent. A quick scramble later and he had a knife tucked into his boot and a sawed-off shotgun in his hands. Only two shells were left, and cursing, Dean loaded them, stumbling back out to stand next to his brother.

Carol was already running towards the house with Lori, Sophia and Carl between them.

Dean sighted down the shotgun, watching as Glenn and Dale tore past the RV. Glenn paused for just a moment as he saw Rick; the ex-cop had grabbed the rifle.

"The barn...they were in the barn and they…they got Shane!" He yelled, and Rick's body went rigid.

Dean felt bad for calling the guy a douche. Gritting his teeth, Dean looked over at Castiel, standing by the table in shock.

"Cas get inside." He ordered.

Daryl was on top of the picnic table; crossbow already cocked and braced into his shoulder, gazing coolly down the shaft of his notched arrow.

In contrast, Castiel stood unarmed, eyes trained on the monsters thundering up towards them.

Goddamn, these zombies were _running._

"They're getting stronger." The angel said, and Dean growled at him, eyes flashing.

"Cas. House. _Now."_

Castiel's face was pale as he turned to him, and Dean swore as he noted the stubborn set of the angel's jaw.

"No."

Muttering profanities, Dean fumbled the knife from his boot and tossed it to the angel.

"Do NOT get bit. Or I will kick your ass." He warned. The angel spared him an exasperated look before the sounds of shooting and shouting erupted.

…

These zombies weren't like the shambling walkers Dean had fought before; they were quicker, more dangerous. Rick opened fire as the first one made it within range, the rifle recoiling hard into his shoulder.

It went down in a spray of blood, but the others behind didn't slow down, ignoring their fallen sibling and trampling the body into a sticky mess. The creatures were shrieking as they made it into camp, tearing into the tents easily, scattering a box of newly washed plates across the dirt.

Andrea slammed a pickaxe down through the skull of a snarling woman as she attempted to clamber up onto the top of the RV. Blood splattered across her face as she tugged it free; the zombie slumping to the ground. Another clambered over the inanimate corpse, growling up at the blonde as it clawed at the RV walls with decaying fingers.

T-dog swung a baseball bat into the face of man, the impact shattering his yellowed teeth. He pulled it free with a sickening slurping sound, the thing's jaw coming loose and tumbling to the ground. Yelling, T-dog swung again, this time putting it down for good.

A middle-aged woman, still dressed in her bloody and stained nightclothes, grabbed him from behind; sinking her teeth into his throat as he screamed hoarsely. He flailed his arm wildly, attempting to beat her off but another latched on to his arm, teeth ripping through muscle and sinew. It shook its head like a rabid terrier, tearing a chunk of bloody meat free. It chewed on it, lips smacking as T-dog went down, carried by the weight of the woman burrowing her teeth in his throat.

Dean yelled hoarsely, turning away from the sickening scene to fire at a lanky teenager that lunged at him.

It was chaos, there were at least two dozen of the things, and they were moving so much faster than the walkers they had seen before. Another shot and the zombie's head shattered in a shower of brain matter; covering his arms and face in a spray of foul-smelling lukewarm gunk.

Sam was faring better; he had joined Daryl on the picnic table and the men stood back to back, firing into the roiling mass of the undead that clawed at their feet.

Out of ammo and seeing more of the things, Dean spun the shotgun around. Using the butt of the barrel, he slammed the gun into the jaw of another; the impact spinning it away.

Hershel was on porch, waving his arms and shouting hoarsely. Lori was trying to drag him back inside, screaming at him.

"Don't kill them!" Hershel shouted. "I know these people!"

Dale had made it to the porch and grabbed the man, forcibly hauling him away as one of the zombies attempted to latch onto him. Dale kicked out at it and it dropped back, hissing angrily.

"Are you crazy? Look at them! They're trying to _kill us_!" He shouted at the older man.

Glenn had entered the fray after grabbing the baseball bat T-dog dropped, and brandished it in front of him with false bravado.

"Come on then you freaks! Come and get me!" He challenged. Two zombies turned on him with hungry yowls, and the young man swallowed hard, swinging the bat with all the force he could muster. He hit the first one square on, but the other dodged the blow, lunging for his arm.

Castiel appeared, grabbing the thing's shoulder and slamming his blade through its skull. It gurgled morosely as it sank to the ground, and Castiel grimaced as he pulled the blade loose. Glenn nodded to him gratefully before turning to take on another zombie.

Grunting, Dean turned his attention back to his own problems.

A little blonde girl in a bloodstained nightgown stood in front of him. Her lips were gone, chewed off, and her teeth grimaced at him from black and bleeding gums. A film of white had clouded over what had been beautiful blue eyes, and her golden pigtails were filthy with dried blood.

She hissed at him, her fingers hooked into claws and Dean swung the now empty shotgun at her. She darted away; un-naturally quick on her feet. Was it his imagination, or was she laughing at him? She darted in close enough to rake her dead nails along his arm and the hunter winced as she drew blood. He managed to land a blow that time, and she stumbled away, licking her fingers as her eyes watched him hungrily. _Definitely creepier than the usual walkers_. Dean swayed on his feet, already exhausted.

She lunged for him again but was halted in her tracks by Daryl; an arrow splattering through her eye from the back of her skull. She dropped like a stone; small body now still and lifeless.

"Dean!" Castiel's voice was urgent, and he turned his head to see the angel a little further away near the fence where quite a few zombies were advancing. He was shoving an obese man in torn overalls away, his blue eyes wide. "Did you line the property with salt?"

Dean kicked away a slobbering woman with only one leg. "Yeah but it's probably gone now."

"Where?" Castiel's voice sharp and Dean gritted his teeth as he brought the gun down on the woman's head.

"Dammit Cas, now is not the best time-"

"_Where_?"

Dean kicked the corpse away from him. "By the fence!" he snapped.

Castiel nodded, and to Dean's horror, turned and took off into the fray.

"CAS!"

…

The angel was single-minded, shoving zombies aside as he ran. At first the zombies only gave him a second glance, not engaging him in any combat, as if they knew he had no soul for them to infect.

That was until he lashed out with the knife, severing one's nose from its face, and it screeched at him angrily.

One grabbed his leg and the angel went sprawling, the knife flying from his fingers. The fence was right there, and scrabbling at the dirt with bloody fingers, he hauled himself forward.

He could see the salt; most had been scuffed from shoes and the wind but there were still a few stubborn grains left, forming a tenuous unbroken line. The angel stretched out his arm, fingers straining. _Just…a…little…more…_

The zombie latched onto his leg, attempted to bite his thigh and the angel cried out, twisting to punch it in the face. It gurgled at him, and for a strange moment, Castiel thought it tried to say something. Snarling, he punched it again, his fist sinking into the wasting flesh of its face and tearing rotting skin free. Its whole left cheek came free with his next blow, and it released him long enough for the angel to wiggle forward.

Desperately, he slapped his outstretched hand down hard, scattering the salt.

….

This one wasn't going down easy, and Dean glared at it as it circled just out of his reach. It was hard to tell if it had been a man or woman; the corpse was burnt to an ashen black, the fleshless skull grinning at him like some plastic Halloween prop. It paced the invisible line, just out of reach like it _knew_. Like it was taunting him.

A muscle was cramping in his leg and Dean gritted his teeth, bracing himself for the inevitable lunge the thing would make.

A voice cracked across the yard, and the burnt horror seized up as if in an invisible grip.

"_SA YA! ISA YA! RI EGA! DUPPIRA ATLAKA ISA YA U RI EGA!_" The words made no sense, and Dean cast around for the source of it.

Crowley stood in the middle of the yard, one trembling hand stretched in front of him, palm forward and fingers splayed. His black coat flapped in the wind as he spoke, seemingly taking a life on it's own as its wearer chanted louder.

The demon looked thunderous, eyes blinking red as he shouted, revealing his true nature. _Sam owes me 10 bucks, he's got crossroad demon eyes._ Dean thought numbly.

"_LIMUTTIKUNU KIMA QUTRI LITILLI SHAMI YE. INA ZUMRI YA ISA YA! INA ZUMRI YA RI EGA!"_

Collectively, the undead jerked, limbs twitching and eyes rolled back into their heads as their mouths gaped open in silent screams.

"_INA ZUMRI YA BI ESHA, RI EGA! __**RI EGA!"**_

Crowley bellowed the last few words and it stopped; the zombies crumpling to the ground, eyes wide and unseeing.

Dean blinked, breathing hard. "Wow. Never thought the day would come I'd be happy to see _you_."

The demon smirked at him. "Feeling's mutual." He glanced around at the twitching undead. "But don't get too excited, I've only paralyzed them for a moment. They'll be up again in a minute."

Dean gritted his teeth and slammed the butt of his gun down on the burnt corpse's head. His stomach twisted as its skull crumbled easily under the force, a spray of blood catching him across the cheek.

"You 'eard him! Destroy 'em!" Daryl shouted over at the others, and hurriedly everyone grabbed a blunt instrument and started smacking anything that twitched.

Rick wiped his brow with the back of his hand, smearing blood across his face as he walked over. His rifle was slick with blood and gore as he tapped it against his leg, eyeing the demon incredulously.

"And just who the hell are you?" He demanded.

Crowley grinned winningly, spreading his hands.

"I think you mean, who _from hell_ are you." He replied. The ex-cop merely stared at him.

Crowley sighed dramatically. "Fine. Crowley, king of hell at your service." He waved his hand. "A pleasure I'm sure."

Sam hopped down from the picnic table and Dean checked him over with his eyes. _No bites thank Go…, or whatever passed for God these days._

"_Crowley_? What are you doing here? What was that?" Sam demanded.

Castiel was rising from the ground, grimacing as he kicked a walker away from him.

"A Sumarian banishing spell if I'm not mistaken." He said. Wincing, he examined his leg where the walker had attempted to bite him. Luckily the denim had buffered most of the force.

Crowley snapped his fingers.

"Someone give the angel a cookie! Whilst you lot have been traipsing around the woods playing house with a bunch of humans, I've actually been busy. You know, trying to _save the world_ and all that."

Dean snorted, reaching out to touch Castiel's shoulder as he neared. The angel nodded wearily at him. _I'm fine Dean._

"Yeah 'cause you've always been such a good Samaritan." Sam growled, arms crossed. In the background the others slowly gathered, shell-shocked eyes turned on the scene. Daryl was kneeling by the fallen T-dog, shaking his head.

Crowley glared at Sam. "Would a thank you kill you once in a while, moose? I did just save your rather shapely _ass_ you know."

"Um…" Glenn limped into view. "Not to break up the reunion or anything, but what is going on? What was that, where did _you_ come from-"

He was interrupted by a furious Hershel. The man stormed down the porch steps, hands bunched into bloodless fists.

"You killed all those people!" He yelled. "My neighbours, my friends, even my family, how _dare_ you..."

The man didn't make it very far. Rick was suddenly there, in his face. Before anyone could react the ex-cop let his fist fly. With a crunch, Hershel was sinking to the ground, hands clapped to his now bleeding nose. Rick loomed above him, face thunderous.

"Because of _you_, people are dead. _Real_ people." He snarled. "My best friend…T-dog…all because of _YOU_."

Lori hurried to her husband's side, hands wrapping around his arm.

"Rick…" She whispered, pulling him away. Rick's shoulders slumped as the old man looked up at him with wide eyes.

Silence settled over the group as they calmed down; the reality of everything settling in.

A slow clap brought all their attention back to the demon.

"This is all _very_ interesting, what with you angsting and all, but we have business to discuss."

…..

The group barely had time to fully register that two of their own were dead before even more was piled on top of them. Apparently demons and angels were real, the world was ending, because walkers were actually things from another dimension that would only get stronger and eventually bring about the end of the whole planet, and somehow the two Winchesters seemed to be at the very center of it.

Dean really didn't envy them. They had all gathered in the living room, crammed into the small space and all looking at the demon that stood in the center of the room. Rick sat on the sofa, staring in space mutely as Lori murmured to him softly.

Sam was leaning against the wall, glowering at the demon. "Why Sumarian then? If these things are from another dimension why does that affect them?"

Crowley shrugged. "Does it look like I know?"

Castiel stepped forward, placing a calm hand on Sam's arm before he could snarl back a retort.

"Sumarian is one of the world's most ancient languages." The angel threw a glance at Crowley. "It predates Christianity, and thus the rituals they used did not involve God in the same way you or I think of Him. They were a superstitious people and often attempted to conjure and control beings from alternate plains of existence. Though it does not have the power to fully exorcise these entities, Sumarian rituals do seem able to bind them temporarily."

Dean shrugged. "So why don't we just whip up a bunch of rituals and go on a walker killing spree?"

Castiel turned to him, shaking his head slightly. "Their number is already too great. Sumarian rituals are not enough on their own." The angel turned back to Crowley, eyes flashing. "Tell us you managed to find something to stop the rift."

The demon arched an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "Well as much as I want to take credit for it, it was your resident crotchety old man that found the possible solution."

"Bobby? You've been at Bobby's?" Dean demanded, hands balling into fists.

Crowley looked at him with a look of long-suffering.

"Yes honey. We didn't want you kids to find out this way but," He clasped his hands together dramatically as he sighed, "You can call me step-mom."

"Crowley…" Castiel warned, and the demon threw up his hands.

"_Fine._ Yes. We might have come up with a possible ritual. That's why I'm here darlings. Have to go save the world!"

Dean gritted his teeth, shooting a look at Sam.

"How?" His little brother asked.

"Really, I wasn't listening when he was blabbering on about it. I'm more an action kind of guy myself, I just gave him the scrolls he asked for. Something about that stupid particle accelerator in Illinois. He's on his way towards it now."

"On his own?" Dean yelled, and Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Well, he hardly needs babysitting. He's a big boy you know." The demon snorted at the brothers horrified twin stares. "Oh don't get your panties in a twist, I left Growly with him. He's safe."

"Growly?" Sam asked.

"You don't remember? But you two seemed to get on _so_ well. Animal magnetism I assume."

Dean winced. "You mean that monster of a hellhound? It's with Bobby?"

Castiel cut in before the brothers could start yelling again.

"Illinois? How are we meant to get there? I am unable to fly…" He trailed off with a swallow, and Dean fought his anger at the demon back down. _Right, saving the world._

"Yeah, the roads are packed with walkers. It'd be suicide and we don't even have a car." Dean tried in vain to not think about his baby.

The others had been sat in numb shock as the four had conversed, but now Rick stood up slowly, eyes flitting between all four of them.

"Ok…I _really_ don't understand what's goin' on and-" Rick held his hand up, cutting off the brothers, "I really don't want to. I have a wife and son t' think about, I'm not goin' anywhere."

There were murmurs of agreement and Sam's eyes widened and he hurried to explain.

"Look, we don't expect any of you to come, it's far too danger-"

Daryl stood up suddenly from where he had been seated on the sofa, eyes hard as he looked between the two brothers.

"You really gonna try and put a stop to it? Once and fer all?" He asked. Everyone fell silent in the room, and Sam looked over at his brother, who nodded.

"Yes." Sam said quietly.

Daryl nodded, slinging his crossbow across his shoulder, moving to stand beside the Winchester.

"Alright. I'm in."

The silence continued to stretch on for a moment, and then Andrea stood as well.

"Me too." She said. Dale hurried up onto his feet, looking at her worriedly.

"Andrea…"

"No Dale." She shook her head. "If there's a way to stop the walkers and avenge Amy…I'm in. This all sounds ten kinds of crazy but you know what? I don't care. I'm tired of just surviving. I want to fight. I need to _do something_."

Dale hesitated for a moment, reading the intent in her eyes. Finally he nodded.

"Then I'm coming too."

Lori and Carol both gasped and Dale turned to the rest of the group. "I know I'm just an old man, but I lost someone to these walkers too." He looked back at Andrea and his eyes softened. "Amy was my friend, as are you Andrea. I can't lose you too. If there's a way to stop all this madness…then I'm in."

Smiling at him, Andrea reached out, slipping her hand in his and squeezing.

"Together." She said quietly.

Crowley clapped his hands together.

"Great, wonderful. _Touching_. I don't mean to be a pain, but we kind of have a schedule to keep. Good ol' Bobby is already on his way and we need to be as well if we're going to have a chance at this whole saving the world thing."

Dean sighed heavily, turning to his brother.

"I guess here we go again huh?" He asked.

Sam smiled back tiredly. "The family business."

….

Ritual Translation:

_Arise! Arise! Go far away! Turn around, go, arise and go far away!_

_Your wickedness may rise to heaven like unto smoke!_

_Arise and leave my body!_

_From my body, depart in shame! Go far away! GO!_


	11. Chapter 11

**Title**: The Walking Supernatural (11/16)  
**Author**: daksgirl  
**Rating**: Teen

**Pairings: **Dean/Castiel, tiiiiny bit of Sam/Daryl (shhhh just come…)  
**Genre**: Zombies! Crossover fic of Supernatural meets the Walking Dead.  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Warnings**: None  
**Word Count**: 3,128 (WIP)

**Summary:** The group start out on their road trip, and the Winchesters are…well Winchesters.

**A/N: **Been struggling a bit writing the chapters, but I whipped this one into submission. Some veeeery tiny bits of Sam/Daryl here, more friendship than anything, I just felt like smushing them up against each other on a motorcycle. Aw yeah. Watched the mid-season finale of WD this morning….I think I'm just going to hide in this fic until February and pretend this is what really happened. Yup yup.

…

The rest of the afternoon was spent silently digging.

Shane and T-dog were buried quietly and humbly under an oak tree out near the field. Castiel said a few prayers whilst the group stood with bowed heads. Lori held Rick's hand in hers tightly as her husband cried for his lost best friend, Carl clinging to his leg and hiding his face as they solemnly covered the bodies with dirt.

The bodies of the zombies from the barn were burned behind the house; surprisingly Hershel didn't say a word of protest. The appearance of Crowley had greatly shaken the man, and he struggled to understand what was happening. He sat on the porch, head held in his hands as the others carried out the gruesome tasks, remaining there even when, later, the group turned their attention to stocking the RV.

Maggie had found a state map in the house and had brought it out; spreading it over the hood of one of the cars. It was a few years out of date, crinkled and worn, but it would do, and Dean studied it, frowning slightly.

"There are a lot of little back roads we could try instead of the main interstate." He followed a line with his finger. "Might be safer".

Sam studied where his brother had indicated, and shook his head with a sigh.

"But that'll take longer. It'll take a few days to make the trip that way."

"Days, we really don't have." Crowley butted in, pushing Sam out of the way to glare at Dean. "Every day these things manage to infect more people. The more souls they get, the more dangerous they become, and the more of them pour out through that damn hole. Next thing you know we'll have zombie gophers to worry about as well."

Sam glared at the demon, bitch-mode activated. "Great. Well what are we meant to do? If we're taking the RV we need a clear route."

Crowley looked over at the map with a critical eye, ignoring the death stares aimed at the back of his head by the younger Winchester.

"Take the interstate. I'll go ahead and clear the way of cars, _just _for you. Any large herds of the undead and I'll give you a heads up mm'kay?"

Daryl was leaning against the hood of the car, arms crossed as he studied the map as well. He looked up incredulously at the demon.

"You can do that?"

Crowley turned the man, winking suggestively.

"King of hell, darling. A few cars and dead people are nothing." He purred.

Apparently unperturbed by the demon, Daryl frowned, shifting his weight away from the car as he glanced up at the sky.

"But night'll be fallin' soon. Might be more dangerous on the roads."

Crowley waved a hand dismissively. "No more than during the day. Just try not to do anything _stupid_, and it'll go peachy."

Crowley turned back to the brothers, tapping the map. "There's a gas station about five hours from here. I'll meet you there."

Turning, he flashed a grin at Castiel, who had remained silent during the exchange. "Keep an eye on 'em will you angel? Bobby dear will make me sleep on the couch if I don't get his little darlings home before prom."

Then, with a wink and snap of his fingers, he was gone.

Sam scowled angrily at the empty space where the demon had stood. "I really dislike him."

"He do that a lot?" Daryl asked, baffled.

"Too often." Dean muttered. Grabbing the map, he folded it back into a more manageable square, and slid it into his shirt pocket. "But I guess we don't have much of a choice in this. We ready to go?"

Dale let the hood of the RV fall back down with a clank, patting it affectionately as he circled the front.

"She's ready. We've got a few canisters of fuel in the back too, just in case."

Andrea walked over from the camp; a plastic bag dangling off one arm.

"We've got enough food and water to see us through at least a week." She added.

Dean nodded. "Alright. How we doing on weapons?"

Daryl shrugged. "Aint got much. The guns you had, some knives, a rifle and an axe or two."

Sam hoisted his packed duffle into the trunk of the RV, wiping a hand over his forehead. "I bet Bobby's packing an arsenal. We'll be alright for now."

Dean looked towards the farmhouse. The rest of the group stood awkwardly in front of it. "Then I guess this is it." He murmured.

Carol was the first to hug the Winchester's goodbye. The kindly woman's eyes were wet as she hugged them both, pressing a motherly kiss to each of their foreheads as she tugged them down.

"Now you be careful you hear?" Her voice quivered, and she swallowed. "When this is all over, I expect you boys to come back here."

Sophia hugged the brothers just as fiercely as her mother had, gazing up at them with teary eyes.

"I'm gonna miss you." She whispered. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat as he ruffled her hair fondly.

"We're gonna miss you too squirt. We'll be back though, don't you worry." _Hopefully._

Sophia sniffled. "That a promise?"

Sam grinned, stooping down to hug her again. "That's a promise."

Andrea was hugging Glenn to her tightly, pulling away with a sniff as she settled a hand on his shoulder.

"You sure you won't come?" She asked. Glenn nodded, turning his head to look at Maggie, who waved meekly at the two from the porch. Hershel made no move to say goodbye, and his daughter stood beside him, one hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sure." Glenn smiled. "Besides, I'm happy here, and I'm not nearly as badass as you or Daryl. I'll look after these guys while you're gone."

Andrea smiled, squeezing his shoulder. "You better."

Lori nodded to the brothers, hands around Carl's shoulders as Rick shook the Winchester's hands, back ramrod straight.

"You both be careful. Look after the others too; they're all good people." Rick clenched his jaw. "And you defeat whatever the heck these things are."

"Yes sir." Sam said respectfully, Dean shooting him a bemused look.

"Good luck." Rick added. "If all that crazy stuff your friend said is true…you're gonna need it."

Dean grinned cockily. "We've been through worse."

…..

After having said their goodbyes, all that was left was to get everyone into the RV.

"Gonna be crowded." Dale muttered, settling down into the driver's seat. Sam paused at the steps, looking inside the RV dubiously.

Dean snorted, crossing his arms. "Sam you barely fit in it sitting. Your legs are too long, you gigantic freak."

Sam scowled at his brother, Andrea hiding a smile behind her hand. "Thanks a lot jerk, what do you want to do? Strap me to the roof?"

Dean was entertaining some rather hilarious thoughts which, apparently, Cas was still angel enough to read. Reaching forward, the angel smacked him up the side of his head.

"Ow!" Dean complained, rubbing the spot as the angel smiled at him affectionately.

Sam moved back outside, frowning. Daryl had moved his motorcycle alongside the RV, hands clenched on the handlebars. He shifted his hip against the motorcycle to support its weight as he scratched the back of his neck nervously with one hand.

"You can ride with me." He offered. "Won't crack yer head at least."

Sam looked worriedly at the motorcycle in question. It was a fine piece of machinery, with high handles and sleek curves, but not quite what he was used to.

Dean chuckled, slapping his brother's back as he leaned out the doorway.

"Yeah go on Sammy, you're good at riding bitch."

Simultaneously, both Castiel's and Sam's hands slapped Dean up the side of his head with an audible smack.

…

Sam grasped the back of the motorcycle worriedly as he sat down, leather creaking. If he fell off Dean would have a field day. His stupid brother was already sniggering as he closed the RV door, and Sam glowered darkly at it.

His legs were a lot longer than Daryl's, and sighing to himself, Sam tried to arrange himself comfortably. The bike was either really old, or designed to mimic an older style; two saddlebags were mounted over the rear wheel, and after some squirming Sam found he could rest his thighs on top of them relatively comfortably. Daryl's crossbow was tucked in one, and Sam adjusted it to avoid stabbing himself.

Daryl swung his leg over with practiced ease, settling himself on the leather as if he had always belonged there. The added weight on the seat tipped Sam forward slightly and he struggled to adjust his legs again to avoid smushing the smaller man.

There wasn't much for it however, his knees ended up framing Daryl's thighs as he started up the bike, and Sam tried to remember why he thought this was a good idea.

The engine roared to life startling him, and Daryl kicked the stand.

Sam nearly had a heart attack as they shot forward, feeling his balance tip. Squawking in alarm, his arms shot around the smaller man, clutching hard, his fingers hooked into Daryl's leather vest.

Daryl stiffened, and Sam desperately tried to keep the rest of him as far away as possible from the man's back. Oh god. Dean didn't need any encouragement.

"Relax." Daryl's voice was amused as he shouted over the motor. "I won't let you fall off."

The bike pulled smoothly out front, the RV trailing behind. Sam managed a quick glance behind him at the waving figures stood outside the farmhouse, before the RV swung in front of them. _Please let them all survive this_, he thought desperately.

The fields whipped by them in a pleasant blur as they drove along the dirt road, and Sam relaxed enough to turn his head and admire them as they passed by. The sky was still grey and cloudy, casting a grey hue over the golden grasses, but it was still beautiful. Cool air raked through his hair, and Sam was thankful he had grabbed his coat from the duffle.

He could feel the cool metal of the revolver pressed against the small of his back, the warmth of Daryl's torso under his hands, the whisper of wind over his face and Sam sighed. Whatever was coming at them in the future, at least they were alive in this moment and he planned to enjoy the moment while he could.

And riding a motorcycle? Pretty cool.

They pulled out onto paved concrete and Sam was relieved to see an empty stretch of walker-free road. Daryl really revved her then, and the motorcycle purred along the road, eating up the asphalt. _She's a bit like the Impala_, Sam mused, _wild, sleek, and free._

It was a good hour before they hit the interstate, and Sam tensed, ready to pull out his revolver.

True to his word, Crowley had cleared a path through the wrecked cars, and the RV had no trouble moving through them. There were a few walkers, but they were far enough away to pose no threat as the group roared by.

….

Dean stretched his back, yawning. Dale looked over from the wheel, smiling slightly.

"Tired?" He asked. Dean sighed.

"You have no idea." Turning in the passenger seat, he checked on Castiel and Andrea. The two were sitting in the back on the old bed, cross-legged. Andrea had found a deck of cards in one of the cupboards and challenged the angel to a game of Go Fish. Needless to say, she was winning, whilst Castiel stared down at the cards in his hand, brow furrowed in confusion and frowning.

Dean chuckled, turning back to look out the front windscreen. Night had fallen but the sky was still relatively light; the clouds from earlier had dissipated, and Dean could see the round shape of the moon.

Daryl and Sam were slightly ahead of the RV off to the right, outlined in the RV's headlights, and Dean craned his head to check on his brother.

Impossibly, Sam had fallen asleep. His body was hunched over, knees pressed along Daryl's outer thighs, cheek pressed against Daryl's shoulder hiding his face from the wind. His arms were a tight band around the smaller man's stomach, his chest plastered along the line of Daryl's back like some giant baby spider monkey.

_Note to self: tease unmercifully. _

Daryl's eyes never wavered from the road despite the octopus clinging to his every curve, and Dean knew his brother was in safe hands.

Dale scratched his head, bringing the hunter's attention back to him. "So…." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Angels and demons huh?"

Dean turned to the older man, smiling crookedly. "Welcome to our lives."

Dale shook his head with a deep chuckle. "All this time, and they're real. Never thought I'd see the day. If only…." He trailed off.

A cheerful cardboard air-freshener swung behind the rearview mirror and Dean flicked it with a finger.

"If only what?" He asked curiously.

Dale watched the road in front of them silently for a moment. He had taken off the bucket hat he always seemed to be wearing, revealing a head of surprisingly white hair.

"If only my wife was here." He finally said, voice quiet. "She was always the spiritual one. Used to…used to tell me that angels were always watchin' us, always there. You just had to…" He smiled wryly. "Just had to look for them."

Dean watched the shadows along the side of the road that the headlights created as they drove by. His heart clenched.

"My mom used to say something similar." He murmured.

…..

It was early morning by the time they finally pulled into the gas station.

Crowley was there, leaning nonchantly on an old gas pump as they pulled in. He pushed away from it as the engines quieted, smirking.

"No trouble?" The demon asked. Sam unfolded himself from the motorcycle, wincing at the soreness in his muscles as Dean clattered down the steps of the RV, casting a wary eye around.

It was a small gas station, only four pumps. The windows of the store had been shattered, and cardboard littered the ground.

"Walkers?" He asked, ignoring the demon's question.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Already checked. You're clear, Rambo."

"I really have to pee." Sam announced to the world. He stretched his arms up over his head, groaning happily as his spine cracked. His shirt had ridden up slightly, revealing a strip of flesh, and Dean darted forward to poke it playfully.

His little brother squeaked, the air whooshing out of him as he rubbed his stomach, glaring.

"'M not surprised, Princess. You were sleeping so hard _cuddled_ up to Daryl on the cycle you missed the pee break. I just didn't have the heart to separate you two…" Dean winked.

Sam's eyes promised violence, and Dean bounced away playfully as Sam lunged for him.

Crowley cast his eyes to the heavens as the brothers tussled, Castiel joining the demon.

"And_ this_ is the crack team that will save the world? Lord have mercy." The demon groaned.

The others searched the gas station for anything useful; stretching their legs and yawning. Crowley watched them uninterestedly as the brother's finally separated; entering the store as well.

"If you two are quite finished, thought you might like to know. Bobby found an abandoned motel, only a few hours from here on the border. Think you can make it there?"

Dale groaned, cracking his back as he walked by. "Sure. But once we get there I'm sleeping."

Dean nodded. "Sleep does sound pretty awesome right about now. Will you let Bobby kn-"

"Already on it." The demon interrupted him, disappearing in a snap of fingers.

As annoying as the demon was, nothing could dampen the sudden joy of knowing he'd be seeing Bobby again soon. He had missed the old man.

Sam had gathered a bunch of bags of chips, and Dean shot him a grateful smile as he passed. Andrea was raiding the drinks, adding some untouched water bottles to their supply.

He found Castiel near the magazines.

"Hey Cas." The angel had been curiously staring at the magazines, one held in his hand as he scanned the cover. As Dean approached, he looked up.

"I can't seem to find your usual reading material Dean." The angel said. A closer look revealed the angel had a copy of "Women's Weekly" in his hand, and Dean laughed, plucking it from the angels hand to place it back in the rack.

"Thanks for the thought Cas, but I think I'll be ok." Sending a quick glance around at the others, the hunter grabbed his hand, tugging the angel along the aisle with him.

"C'mon."

He led the angel through two swinging doors marked **EMPLOYEES ONLY.** It led into a store room, cardboard boxes piled everywhere in haphazard piles. Dean turned, tugging the angel against him roughly.

His lips were desperate and demanding and Castiel relaxed against him, submissively allowing Dean to map his mouth with a hot tongue. They kissed until Dean's jaw ached and he pulled away, eyes flashing.

"Don't think I've forgotten about that stunt you pulled earlier." He growled. "Those things almost got you Cas."

Castiel's eyes flashed with annoyance.

"I am more than capable of taking care of myself Dean." He huffed back. "Or have you forgotten what I can-mph!"

Dean had kissed him again, fingers threading through his hair.

Castiel blinked in confusion as the hunter finally released him, his lips slightly swollen and shiny with borrowed spit, as he stepped back.

"Just…don't do it again. Ok?" Dean asked. The angel reached out, threading his fingers through Dean's and squeezing gently.

"You know I can't promise that." His voice was soft. "I will do whatever it takes to stop these things. To save the world. To save _you_."

Dean blinked, a lump suddenly forming in his throat. Dammit why did he always say things like that?

"Fine." He finally conceded. He raised his other hand to point at the angel, brows drawn together in a hard glare. "But no _unnecessary_ heroics ok?"

Castiel smiled, leaning forward to press a feather-light kiss against Dean's lips.

"Ok." He murmured. Both of them jumped as the doors suddenly slammed open, thudding against the walls.

Sam stood outlined in the doorway, grinning wildly.

"Hey lovebirds! We're ready to go, if you're finished _making out_."

Sam was glad he had been born with long legs. As his furious brother chased him through the store and back outside, the younger Winchester just laughed and laughed.

….


	12. Chapter 12

**Title**: The Walking Supernatural (12/16)  
**Author**: daksgirl  
**Rating**: R

**Pairings: **Dean/Castiel, some more friend Sam/Daryl moments  
**Genre**: Zombies! Crossover fic of Supernatural meets the Walking Dead.  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Warnings**: SLASHY SEX. Two men getting it ooooon. Barebacking, coarse language. You know, the usual. Castiel!Bottom, Dean!Top  
**Word Count**: 3,630 (WIP)

**Summary:** Bobby and the Winchesters are re-united, and he has a plan to save the world.

**A/N: **Sexy times at the end of the chapter yay! I'm a fan of slash stories that swap the top and bottoms around, so did that here, hope no-one is too squicked by it. Again, if you don't like m/m relationships, just skip the bottom end of the chapter (HA! Bottom get it?...right I'll shut up). Do I have to warn for Bobby and Crowley acting like an old married couple? Is that even a ship? Because I'm _so_ onboard if so.

….

By the time they finally made it to the motel, the sun was high in the sky and everyone was yawning, blinking blearily.

It was a small run-down building a little ways off the main road, the peeling cheerful sign proclaiming in bold letters: **Deluxe rooms for any budget. **There were a few cars in the parking lot, and with a twinge of excitement, Dean recognized an old beaten up truck. _Bobby_.

"Looks classy." Dale commented, guiding the RV past the rusty gate into the small parking lot.

As the front of the building came into view, Dean suddenly noticed several still figures lining the outside fence. A total of about a dozen people dressed in sharp black suits and shades stood stiffly, watching the RV as it parked.

"What is this, a men in black convention?" Andrea exclaimed. "More of your friends?" Dean shook his head, opening the door and blinking in the bright light.

Sam stood outside, eyeing the figures warily. They made no move towards the new arrivals, slowly turning their heads back to the road outside the motel. Each had a semi-automatic slung across their shoulders, and it was then Dean noticed the slumped motionless corpses piled along the side of the building.

"They look like bouncers." Sam mused.

There was a shuffle and Crowley appeared.

"Well that's essentially what they are." The demon said. "I just thought suits classed up the joint a bit."

Dean stared incredulously at him. "These are your _lackeys_? Dude how come we didn't get any?"

Crowley snorted.

"Because I don't_ like_ you as much. Bobby's my favorite."

Before Dean could bluster a response, the front glass doors of the motel swung open, and a very familiar figure emerged.

Bobby looked the same as always, tattered cap pulled low on his head dressed in old jeans and a flannel shirt. He smiled as he noticed the two in the parking lot, stopping to put his hands on his hips.

"Well if it aint the Winchesters. Bout time you boys got here."

Both brothers grinned, striding over.

"Bobby!"

"Man is it good to see you…"

Fierce, but manly, hugs were exchanged. Bobby smiled at them both. He looked the same, but dark circles were beginning to form under his eyes.

"Thank god you're here. I was getting' mighty tired of having only these guys for company." Bobby jerked his thumb towards the silent demons. "They're good for when walkers show up, but don't say much."

The older hunter nodded to the angel as he walked over, followed by Daryl, Andrea and Dale.

"Good to see you too Cas. And…some new friends?" He asked.

Sam nodded, smiling. "Yeah, we've been…busy. Bobby, this is Daryl, Andrea and Dale. They're here to help."

Bobby arched an eyebrow as he looked over the three.

"Well we could use all the help we can get. Come on inside."

…

The inside of the motel was in relatively good condition. Bobby had set up the dining room as a base; piles of papers and books from his library covered most of the tables. Scraps of paper with Bobby's spidery writing littered the floor, and the older man stooped to collect some as the group moved into the room.

He motioned to some chairs in the corner of the room, and the group settled into them; Crowley lurking in the doorway. Bobby settled down in a larger leather chair at a table, sighing heavily as he moved some books out of the way.

"So the Sumarian banishing ritual worked for a bit huh? That's a stroke of luck. Just wish we had somethin' more permament." He said.

Something huffed happily in the corner, and everyone jerked as papers suddenly went flying; something invisible hurrying past them all. Dean felt panic claw inside his chest as he heard the familiar panting noises, and froze in his seat, eyes wide. _Hellhound._

No-one started screaming and bleeding however, though Bobby did grunt slightly as the creature bowled into his seated legs. He reached out a hand and patted the air somewhere around his shoulder.

"Silly thing. Was only out for a moment." The hellhound whined, and some other papers on the floor scattered as it apparently sat down with a thud.

Crowley glowered from the doorway.

"You spoil him." The demon muttered. "He's hardly a terrifying bloodthirsty monster what with you constantly hugging him and calling him a 'good boy'."

Sam was staring. "Good boy?" He asked.

Bobby went red, ducking his head as he coughed.

"He aint so bad." He mumbled gruffly, hand still patting air. There was a joyful huff, and the sudden thumping of what could only be a giant tail wagging against the floor.

Before anyone else could comment, Bobby shook his head, grabbing a piece of paper with his other hand.

"I found something that might stop this whole thing." He shook the paper. "Kinda like a Sumerian exorcism. Only problem is it won't be enough on its own."

Castiel frowned. "It will require more than a ritual?"

Bobby nodded, handing the piece of paper to the angel. "We're gonna have to start up that damn machine again. Re-make the particle thing that caused all the trouble in the first place."

"Wait a minute," Andrea put her hand up on a stop motion. "But isn't that what caused the whole thing in the first place? A…a tear or something? Won't starting it again just make it bigger?"

Bobby shrugged. "When that machine turned on, it weakened somethin' between worlds allowing stuff in, formin' a one-way hole. Turning the machine back on will weaken it again yeah, but it'll _also_ allow these son o' bitches back through. _Out_ of our world. Then, we seal it up behind 'em."

Dale frowned. "I don't know about you but I don't know much about physics. Isn't there a lot of science protocols we'll have to deal with just to turn the thing on?"

Crowley was idly flicking through one of the many books. He looked up at the question, smirking. "You got an angel and a demon on the case. I'm sure we'll figure it out."

Castiel shifted in his seat, brow furrowed as he looked at Bobby seriously. "These creatures feed off of soul energy. If we are to seal them back into their own dimension, we will need a similar type of energy to do so. A _vast_ quantity."

Bobby looked uncomfortable. "That's the tricky part." He admitted. "We're talkin' about tens of thousands of souls needed to power the spell. We're treadin' a moral grey area now."

"Where we gonna get them from?" Sam asked worriedly.

There was a polite cough, and everyone turned to Crowley.

The demon rolled his eyes. "Do I have to keep telling you blockheads? KING OF HELL. We got souls galore."

Dean crossed his arms with a scowl. "Am I the only one not entirely comfortable with trusting Crowley with all this?"

Bobby sighed. "I'd be inclined to agree with ya son, but we don't have a whole lotta options."

Again, Andrea held her hand up. "Now wait, are we talking about sacrificing people? Because that doesn't sit right with me."

Crowley sighed, moving away from where he had been poking through the assortment of books and papers.

"Let's put it this way: would you rather suffer in hell, being tortured every second of every day, _or_ volunteer to take part in a ritual and become non-existent, avoiding said torture and pain?"

Dean knew which option he would have taken, given the choice.

Andrea seemed to agree. The blonde sighed, settling back down in her chair. Dale was staring around bewilderedly, shaking his head.

"This is all a bit over my head." He admitted. Bobby snorted.

"Welcome to the club." He looked over at the Winchesters. "We got everythin' we need. The machine is at a military complex in Illinois; bout a day's driving from here. Knowin' our luck the place will be crawlin' with the bastards. We gotta get inside, turn that stupid thing on and do the ritual. All goes according to plan, we save the world."

"And if it doesn't?" Sam asked quietly. Bobby smiled sadly at him.

"Then at least we went out fightin'."

The group absorbed this for a moment, and the reality of it hit Dean hard. They could die, and this time, there wouldn't be any angels to bring them back. Castiel was sitting to his left, eyes far away and Dean knew he was thinking the same thing.

Abruptly, he stood.

"Alright then. We'll head out tomorrow." He said grimly. "But right now we're all dead on our feet. We'll talk about this some more after we all get some sleep."

Sam nodded, yawning widely.

"Gotta agree on that. I'm so tired I could sleep right here." He murmured.

Dean looked over to find Castiel was gazing up at him.

"So, I'm going to hit the hay. Get some sleep." Dean looked meaningfully at the angel, starting for the door. Catching on, Castiel straightened, nodding slightly at Bobby.

"Yes, I believe I also require rest. I will…help Dean with the bags." He said seriously, following the hunter out the door.

Bobby stared after the two for a moment, before turning disbelieving eyes towards Sam.

"Do those two idjits think they're bein' subtle?" He asked incredulously. "I mean it's bout time and all but…_really_."

"Hit the hay, my ass." Sam muttered, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Crowley smirked at him. "I think your brother prefers _angel_ ass actually."

Bobby turned to scowl at the demon.

"Don't you have someone else to torment? Preferably far away?" He demanded.

Crowley grinned winningly, reaching out to pat the snuffling hellhound as it trotted over to him with a woof.

"Not at the moment Bobby dear."

Sam made a face. He did so not need to have images of Dean and Castiel in his head, then have to witness the demon _flirting _with, what was essentially, his father.

"Ok, that's my cue to leave." He huffed, standing. "Any good rooms Bobby?"

The hunter gestured towards the door. "Take your pick. A few were occupied when I got here, but most are ok. I locked the ones that aint no good. Just stay away from 3B. The mutt got a bit overexcited takin' care of some zombies."

Sam nodded, and the others also stood, all looking forward to a proper bed.

"Alright. Thanks Bobby."

….

They collected their bags from the RV; Dale and Andrea headed for one of the better rooms upstairs.

Sam cast a glance at Daryl. The man had been quiet ever since they arrived; probably overwhelmed at his sudden introduction into the world of the supernatural. Walkers were one thing, but demons and beings from another dimension were another.

"Guess it's just you and me now huh?" Sam smiled.

Daryl nodded, hefting the crossbow over one arm; a modest duffle in the other.

"Been a while since I've slept in a proper bed." He admitted.

The motel was designed like most; the doors opened directly into the parking lot, only a flimsy wooden walkway providing any cover should it rain. They walked down it together until Sam decided on one of the open rooms. The door hung slightly ajar, and Sam walked forward, hand outstretched to push open the door.

"Might be safer if we share, y' know…just in case." Daryl's voice was quiet, and Sam paused, throwing a look over his shoulder as his hand rested on warm wood of the door.

Daryl suddenly looked nervous and awkward, and Sam realized. Travelling in the company of others for so long, neither of them had been left alone to sleep in weeks, maybe even months. The prospect of sleeping in a room alone suddenly scared him just as much as it apparently did Daryl.

Sam merely nodded, and Daryl's worried expression disappeared as he managed a small smile. Sam pushed the door open, peering inside it warily.

Two queen size beds dominated most of the room, each covered in a simple blue bedspread. The walls were white, with a few crooked paintings nailed haphazardly to it, a few chairs and chest of drawers. It was sparse and simple, clean and tidy.

It was perfect.

The two men exchanged twin expressions of happiness. Sam flopped onto one bed, groaning in appreciation.

"Oh god. I may never move again." He muttered. Daryl slid the crossbow off his shoulder, placing it carefully on the bedside table as he scoped out the room.

A tiny bathroom was through the one door, a large closet hidden behind the other. A small black and white TV was nestled on one of the counters, and he flicked the switch experimentally. As expected, nothing happened.

Slowly, he sank down on his own bed, kicking his shoes off.

"So what's goin' on with your brother and Castiel?" Daryl asked offhandedly.

Sam snorted, the sound mostly muffled by the bed.

"You know, I don't think even _they_ know most of the time."

Daryl leaned his arms on his thighs as he stared at the floor absently. A beetle was attempting to scale an expedition along the fluffy strands of carpet, little black legs waving in apparent victory as it made it to the top of one of the twisted fibers.

"No-one's ever looked at me that way." He said quietly.

Sensing his whole attention was needed; Sam rolled his head to the side, watching the man's hunched shoulders curiously. Daryl shrugged, reaching down to pull off his socks. He dug his toes into the soft carpet and the beetle flailed; knocked off its perch.

"I haven't….I never…" Daryl fingered the socks nervously, before tossing them to the side. "Must be nice I mean. To have someone."

Sam was quiet as he mulled that over. He didn't want to think about Dean and Cas, _together_, thank you very much, but he had to admit they were good for each other. Both equally stubborn, equally annoying sometimes and _equally_ as crazy about each other.

Daryl shifted on the bed, grabbing the bottom of his vest and pulling it off in one motion. Sam wondered if he should hide his eyes or something. The only other man he had ever really shared a room with was Dean; what was the etiquette for non-family?

"My brother…Merle…" Daryl smiled crookedly as he balled the vest up and tossed it towards his bag. "We never 'ad what you and Dean have. I don't…I don't even know if he's alive." The discarded clothing landed just to the left of the bag, and he frowned at it for a moment. "No-one would cry if he aint."

Sam moved into a sitting position. "Don't say that." He murmured. Daryl shrugged with a low humorless chuckle.

"It's the truth." He turned his head to look at Sam, his eyes serious. "We never 'ad a family. What you got with Dean…with this guy Bobby…" He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. "Kinda wish I had that too y'know?"

Sam didn't know what was required in this situation. Should he offer to hug him? Or just offer manly advice? _Urgh man stuff is hard._ _Great, I really am a giant girl._

Finally he just decided to do it the Sam Winchester way.

He smiled at the smaller man, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "Well for what it's worth, you're part of this one now. Might want to run while you still can, we're the worst kind of role-models."

There was something unnamable in those blue eyes as they looked back at him. Something hopeful.

"Yeah?" Daryl asked.

Sam could see it then; the vulnerability of someone who had lost everything.

Someone who had been hurt badly in the past and was tired of carrying it around. Someone who wanted to do what was right, who wanted to save the world just to protect people. Someone who wanted to be accepted and loved for who they were.

Everything a Winchester had ever been, and ever would be.

Whoever Merle Dixon had been, he must have been a _gigantic_ bag of dicks to not see all that in his younger brother, and Sam wasn't about to make the same mistake.

"Yeah." Sam grinned.

…

Castiel had been alive for a long time.

He had seen every moment of mankind's evolution, watched the moments of horror, terror and pain. He had seen the love that two people could share, smiled at stolen kisses and averted his sight during sweaty nights. He had seen everything.

But seeing, and _experiencing_ were two different things, and in this very moment, Castiel wanted this experience to stretch on forever.

He was braced on his forearms, head hung low and eyes squeezed shut as he groaned shamelessly into the pillow. Dean thrust harder into him from behind, one hand splayed possessively around the back of his neck.

Castiel found the breath in his lungs shuddering, and he struggled to draw in deep breaths as the hunter fucked into him. It was rough and dirty, unlike the first time they did this and the angel reveled in it.

An arm hooked under his stomach, and Castiel grunted as Dean hauled him upright.

He bucked slightly at the new position, grinding his hips in a slow circle as Dean pressed against his back. He felt surrounded, covered and filled. It was unlike anything he had experienced, and the angel could only close his eyes and gasp his pleasure into the air, that he was finally allowed this. With Dean.

"It feels…it feels…"Castiel grunted, clenching his jaw tightly as he reached back with a hand to grab Dean's thigh; his fingers digging hard enough to bruise.

He longed to be able to stretch his wings free, to revel in the moment with all of himself, but he was unsure if he could do even that; his grace was so dampened and faded. It fluttered weakly in his chest, like a guttering candle in the breeze. Soon he would more mortal than angel, but strangely he did not fear it.

Not if this is what it meant to be mortal.

He felt Dean's lips caress the back of his neck, moving down to gently nip at the muscle in his shoulder. His skin was on fire, every inch of it aflame with desire, and he arched his back, pushing his hips more firmly into the solid line of Dean's hips.

"Yeah Cas." The hunter's voice was rough and strained, and Castiel found the sound of it only made his heart pound harder.

One hand trailed down the angel's chest towards his groin where he was so achingly hard, the other gliding over one hip to grip it firmly. For a fleeting moment Castiel wanted Dean to dig his fingers in; to leave bruises and mark the angel as his. Only and forever, _his._

"Yeah, come on." Deans breath was hot against his ear, voice strangled, and Castiel angled his head in an attempt to capture that sinfully beautiful mouth with his. The position was awkward but the angel relished the slight discomfort. It reminded him that this was real, that he could _feel_. It was animalistic, messy and dirty. It was so utterly and completely _human_, and perfect.

Dean grunted, his hips pistoning harder, and Castiel felt the promise of release shoot through his veins. He hands clutched Dean against his back, head dropping down as he savored the sensation. His body thrummed, and as Dean whispered his name brokenly, the angel froze; body stretched tight as he came, mouth open in a silent scream.

Afterwards, sweat cooling on their bodies in the afterglow, Castiel traced the lines and shadows of Dean's face as they both breathed deeply.

He traced the freckles that peppered the hunter's cheeks, brushed the bridge of his nose, danced along his laughter lines, smoothed the worried wrinkles, and Castiel physically ached with the amount of love he carried for the man.

He knew Dean cared for him, he did, but he longed to hear it; to have it confirmed in these quiet stolen moments.

"Do you think it'll work?" Dean finally asked, voice quiet and low. Castiel paused his touching.

It was very likely that in the days to come, someone would be killed. Perhaps for a cause that wouldn't even work.

"It has to." He said firmly, ignoring his thoughts.

Dean's eyes opened, and he moved his head to see the angel better.

Castiel had always been fascinated by those eyes. If he looked hard enough it was as if he could see the parts of Dean that he usually hid from the world, as if it was solely for Castiel to see; to understand and cherish. Now, they were worried, and Castiel could see the fear and uncertainty in those green eyes. "But if it doesn't…"

Castiel silenced him with a kiss. He would never grow tired of kissing Dean Winchester. Never.

He tried to convey that to the human, pouring his faith and love into the kiss, relishing the way Dean responded to him, mouth opening. _You can do this. You will succeed. _

"It will succeed." Castiel said when he eventually pulled away. "It will."

The hunter settled back down after that, relaxing into the downy mattress and Castiel watched him as he fell into an exhausted sleep.

The angel couldn't resist pressing another kiss to those slack lips as he settled his head on Dean's chest, reassuring himself as he listened to the steady thump of Dean's heart. Everything would be fine. It had to be.

"I love you Dean." He whispered into the silent room.

….


	13. Chapter 13

**Title**: The Walking Supernatural (13/16)  
**Author**: daksgirl  
**Rating**: Teen

**Pairings: **Dean/Castiel  
**Genre**: Zombies! Crossover fic of Supernatural meets the Walking Dead.  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Warnings**: Religious themes, blasphemy, coarse language  
**Word Count**: 3,150 (WIP)

**Summary:** Castiel has a theological discussion with a demon of all things, and the group finally makes it to the complex in Illinois.

**A/N: **Sorry about the slight delay, since Friday's ep of SPN all I've wanted to do is lie in a dark room in the fetal position crying my eyes out, so writing is a bit hard to get into again. But I will prevail! This is kind of a filler chapter before all hell breaks loose. Still planning for 16 chapters, so we're nearing the end argh! Thank you all again for reading and leaving me feedback; I love you all! I may have also slipped in a Harry Potter quote this chapter...whoops.

…..

Dean was still sleeping when Castiel slipped out of bed.

The hunter was sprawled on his stomach, face buried in the pillow and arms outstretched, drooling slightly as he grunted something in his sleep. Castiel spared him an affectionate smile as he quietly rummaged through the duffle that had been carelessly dropped by the door.

His fingers slid over a familiar shape, and slowly Castiel pulled his battered trench-coat free. It was a sad sight; frayed in places with a deep red bloodstain spreading along one side, but it was familiar. It was _his_.

He slipped it on over his borrowed shirt and jeans, a small part of the inner turmoil he had been feeling, calming. He felt more like himself, as if there was a part of him that wasn't quite lost to humanity as long as he wore the coat. Without it he felt vulnerable and naked. He felt so…human.

The parking lot was empty as he left the room, no demons to be seen as he moved out onto the walkway.

The angel paused. A little ways along the grassy verge of the road, stood Crowley. The sun was beginning to set; spreading dark red tendrils of light across the paling sky, and the demon watched it, face upturned.

Slowly Castiel approached, shoes scuffing against the concrete.

There was a slight chill in the air, signaling night was swiftly approaching. A wasp flew sluggishly by, slow and cold, and Castiel watched its drunken flight in contemplative silence.

The demon sighed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black coat.

"Hello Castiel."

Castiel wondered idly if the demon was as partial to his article of clothing as the angel was to his. Castiel shifted, pulling the edges of the trench-coat tighter around himself, his own armor against the world.

"Your minions appear to be gone." He finally remarked.

The demon beside him didn't move.

"They're preparing." Crowley said curtly, his eyes never leaving the sun as it slipped lower beyond the horizon.

Castiel's stomach twisted. "For what?" He asked quietly, despite the fact that he could already hazard a guess.

"War, Castiel. They're preparing for war."

The demon seemed so tired; his voice lacking his usual sarcasm or nicknames. Somehow, that worried Castiel even more. Nothing seemed able to shake the demon as of yet, unless….

"You have been to the complex already."

Crowley nodded slightly, dropping his gaze from the sky to focus on the angel.

"Six humans, an ex angel and some demons. It's not enough, not by far." The demon's eyes flashed red briefly, and his voice shook with barely concealed rage.

"Hell is _heaving _with monsters and yet no-one, not even _one_ mangy vampire will fight." He made a noise of disgust. "They're bloody cowards, skulking in the bowels of hell like a bunch of frightened children. Like that will somehow save them."

The demon laughed hollowly, the sound echoing around the dead parking lot.

"And demons? Well they _want_ the world to burn. They're down there right now, kicking off a bloody _party_, like this is all some sort of game and they'll be the winners. Fucking morons."

Castiel's gaze didn't flicker from the blood red eyes on his. "But not you."

With a blink, Crowley's eyes returned to their usual brown. "No." He admitted. "I happen to like the world the way it is. Do you know how many asses I had to kiss and the shit I had to do to get to where I am? When I pictured the glorious 'Reign of Crowley' it wasn't just for a month or two, thank you very much. I have _plans_."

The wasp had returned, and Castiel dragged his eyes away from the demon to watch it. It landed on his sleeve, antennae twitching as it explored the folds and tears of the beige fabric. "So you turn to the Winchesters."

"Well I don't know if you've noticed, but those two are the real deal. Any shit going down, world in danger and all that, they're _guaranteed_ to be in the middle of it. Annoying as hell, but they get it done. They always save the day."

The wasp, disappointed that Castiel was not in fact a flower, buzzed away, disgruntled. Crowley watched it leave, shrugging one shoulder.

"And the really sad thing? I reckon the world would be pretty boring without the _Lose_chesters." The demon turned then, pointing a finger at the angel aggressively. "And don't you _dare _tell them I said that."

Castiel hid a grin. "I will never reveal the best of you, Crowley."

The demon smiled, hands settling back into his pockets. "You know angel, you're not half bad. If we survive this whole thing, I'll buy you a drink sometime. Poison free and everything."

There was a time when such a thing would have disgusted him, associating with a _demon_ of all things, but this was a new world, and a new Castiel.

The sun had finally disappeared from view, the sky darkening. Neither supernatural being made a move to head inside however, standing side by side as they watched the stars emerge.

"I'm sorry about Heaven." Crowley said quietly, breaking the silence.

At the angel's incredulous look, the demon chuckled slightly, shrugging.

"_Honestly_, I am. Hell and Heaven are like siblings: we may bitch on about each other a lot, or want to beat the shit out of each other 'cause we don't see eye to eye and Father plays favorites, but at the end of day….we don't really know what to do without each other."

Castiel could only manage a tight nod, words catching in his throat. Crowley didn't comment on it, eyes still trained on the sky.

"Do you think He's out there? God I mean."

Castiel breathed out deeply. Of all the creatures to begin having a religious discussion with, a demon had not been high on his list.

"I don't know. I like to think that He is." He said truthfully.

Crowley shook his head, and the angel could sense the frustration in the rigid line of his body. He wondered what it was the demon had seen to put him so ill at ease and willing to discuss God of all things with an _angel_….and then decided he'd rather not know.

"Then why doesn't He do something?" Crowley demanded. "Surely in all His holy, _Godness_, He can see the amount of shit we're all in? Unless…" He sighed heavily, scuffing one foot against the grass sullenly. "…unless He's given up. Maybe we bloody well should too. Just say 'fuck it' and join the party downstairs."

_That would be simpler wouldn't it?_ Castiel mused. _To simply give up on everything and wait for the inevitable. _Perhaps that was the smarter thing to do, but Castiel had never considered himself a particularly intelligent angel. He was a soldier, and soldiers fought. They fought even when there was little to no hope left, when all their brothers had been cut down and slaughtered.

"I don't know that either. But I have faith."

Crowley snorted indelicately. "Still? After all this? Tell me angel, I'm curious. What keeps that good ol' God flame alive? Cause I gotta tell you darling, you got the shittiest deal out of all of us."

"I don't have faith in _Him."_ Castiel said grimly. He could feel the last vestiges of his grace flicker, slipping away with the words, but he couldn't find it within himself to care. Perhaps Dean had been right all along; perhaps God really was dead and gone. Perhaps they were all alone.

Heaven was gone. The angels were gone. Soon, if they failed, the world would be gone too. God had no place here anymore.

One tiny sliver of something angelic clung stubbornly to his heart however, and Castiel held it within himself fiercely, nurturing the tiny flame. It was small and imperfect, hardly bright and beautiful as his grace had been, but it was his. And it did not belong to God.

Not anymore.

"I may not have faith in God," he said slowly, "but I have faith in the _Winchesters._ And that is enough."

…

Sam whistled lowly as he surveyed the array of weapons in front of him.

"Woah Bobby. Think you have enough here?"

Bobby shrugged, tugging the visor of his tattered baseball cap contemplatively.

"Hopefully. This is the apocalypse after all, boy. Thought I'd bring a bit of everythin'."

The old hunter had brought a wide variety of firearms, including shotguns, revolvers, pistols and even a few old German lugers. Sam hefted one up, admiring it in the dim light. There were a few blades as well, an axe and even an old beaten up shovel. Sam replaced the luger, making a mental note to claim it later.

With a grunt, Bobby slammed the lid on the old trunk closed, sliding it back under the tarp on his truck.

"Figure we'll hand out weapons when we git to where we're goin'."

The group had repacked the vehicles after a light meal of pilfered gas station food. They had a night of driving ahead of them if they were to make it to the complex Crowley had marked on the map, and no-one was looking forward to what awaited them there.

Bobby climbed into his truck, slamming the door shut. Dean yawned, yanking open the passenger side, the door screeching in protest.

There was a low growl as Dean moved to sit down, and the hunter jerked back cursing as something rather large nipped at his arm with pointy teeth. Bobby chuckled slightly, patting the air next to him.

"Sorry son, but this seat is taken." Bobby said apologetically. The growl morphed into a happy snuffle, and Dean backed up shaking his head.

"Seriously Bobby?" He demanded.

There was a low chuckle, and Crowley appeared in the small backseat, leaning his arms over the front seat to scratch the hellhound.

"Looks like Growly called shotgun." The demon smirked. "Sorry mate."

Daryl appeared from the main lobby, hefting his duffel onto his bike. He straightened, casting an eye around the empty parking lot.

"Where'd the suits go?" He asked curiously. Sam shrugged, tossing his own bag into the RV.

"Collecting souls apparently."

Daryl snorted. "'Course. Silly me."

Dean turned back to glare at the demon lounging in the back seat.

"So why _you_ still here?"

Crowley smiled, leaning back in the worn tattered seat. "Have to make sure you damn heroes live long enough to actually carry out the stupid ritual don't I? Unfortunately I can't do it alone. _Pity_."

Mumbling to himself, Dean slammed the door shut.

Dale was already seated in the driver's seat as Dean stomped back over to the RV. Andrea poked her head out of the door, smiling at the grumbling hunter as he approached.

"Guess you're riding with us again then huh?"

Dean smiled at her winningly, temporarily forgetting his frustration with certain annoying demons and their pets. "If you don't mind our ravishing company. Sam?"

The younger Winchester paused, casting a glance over at Daryl who had settled on his motorcycle already.

"Think I might ride with Daryl." He said offhandedly.

Daryl ducked his head, but hadn't managed to avoid hiding the smile that played around his mouth. Dean nodded, punching his brother lightly on the arm as he passed.

"Fair enough Samantha. Just don't fall off!" He called. Sam rolled his eyes, waving him away.

"Yeah, yeah mother hen."

Castiel was already settled at the table in the RV, and Dean sank down next to him with a smile as the motor spluttered to life. The angel had donned his usual trench coat, and Dean fingered the edge of a frayed sleeve.

"See you got your armor back on." He murmured. The angel smiled openly, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his lips before the hunter could protest.

"Thank you for saving it Dean."

Andrea winked at them as she passed by, and Dean hid his flaming face, Castiel looking confusedly on.

…

The ride there was uneventful; the roads oddly clear of any walkers. They made good time, the drive only took 4 hours before Crowley made the group pull over; parking the vehicles a short way off the main road along a dirt track.

The moon was still high as the demon led the group along the track a little ways further, cresting a grassy hill. There at the top, a valley yawned in front of them and they could see the complex down at the bottom.

"Well…fuck." Dean managed as he gazed down with wide eyes.

Crowley managed a long-suffering sigh. "Eloquently put as always, Winchester."

Two huge concrete rings, at least a few miles in circumference, dominated the landscape. Around them stretched a relatively flimsy looking chain fence, and where the two rings intersected, the square shape of the main lab building loomed. Set on old pasture, there was a great deal of open space between the buildings, and lurking there…

"That is a _shit-tone_ of walkers." Daryl grunted.

They swarmed both inside and outside of the fence along the grass; some shuffling slowly around, others standing still with decaying faces turned towards the moon. All seemed to be spaced out just so, defending the one entrance to the complex at the heart of the two circles. From the crest of the hill they looked like ants, defending a nest.

"Most of the lab is underground." Castiel explained, blue eyes trained on the scene below. "Underneath the largest ring, around three floors down, is the room we're looking for. The control room."

"You mean the place we can turn the damn thing on." Dale said tightly. "Then what?"

"The rift should become physically visible to us once the particle has been formed." The angel continued. "Once we begin the ritual, we can attempt the exorcism of the walkers and then seal the rift shut."

Andrea chewed her lower lip nervously. "When we open this 'rift' again…more of those things will come out, won't they?"

It was Bobby who answered her, clapping a comforting hand on her shoulder encouragingly.

"Might. As long as no-one plans on gettin' bitten or dyin' we'll be ok."

Crowley had been silent, staring down at the darkened shape of the complex, when the shadows shifted. The demons they had seen at the motel emerged, all carrying various items, still dressed in their suits and shades. One carried a black briefcase, and Dean eyed it suspiciously.

"What's that?" Sam beat him to the question, as Crowley took the briefcase from the demon with a nod.

"A pony of course." The demon said sarcastically. "It's the souls, you blockhead."

"They all fit into that?" Andrea asked incredulously.

"What were you expecting? A shiny chalice or something?" The demon rolled his eyes. "Humans. So tiny minded."

Another demon offered him what appeared to be clothing, and Crowley tossed it to Dean.

"Here. You're all like walking twinkies to those things down there. Put 'em on."

Dean wrinkled his nose as he held up the stiff material. It looked like leather of some type; a dark deep red.

"What the hell is it?" He asked, sniffing it warily. The stench of sulfur hung around it, and the hunter grimaced, tossing it to his brother who mirrored him, frowning suspiciously at the material.

"Demon armor." Castiel helpfully supplied. Sam dropped it hurriedly, and Crowley rolled his eyes impatiently.

"Just shut up and put it on." The demon growled. "Unless you _want _to have chunks ripped out of your squidgy bits. Makes no difference to me."

The armor turned out to be stiff gauntlets that covered otherwise exposed and vulnerable areas; areas the walkers were guaranteed to go for. Dean grumbled to himself as Castiel helped him tie the arm guards on; the material felt scratchy against his skin.

"What's it made of?" Daryl asked, securing his own. Crowley shook his head.

"You really don't want to know."

As the humans struggled into the rest of the armor, there was a crack, and the air was suddenly full of barking and growling.

Three female demons stood a bit further down the hill. A curvaceous brunette clad in leather boots and a latex suit stepped forward, a whip in one hand.

"_Dude_..." Dean started but was cut off by a glare from Castiel and Bobby.

"Shut up Dean." Sam said automatically.

"Lord Crowley." The demon bowed her head, the two demons behind her snapping out sharp words to the space beside them, whips cracking through the air. "The pack is assembled and we await your command."

Bobby's eyes were wide as he watched the other female demons shout and attempt to bring order to the large group of hellhounds they had obviously gathered.

The air echoed with baying and barking, and Dean was once again grateful the beasts were invisible; the sounds reminded him too much of a painful death he'd rather forget.

"Good." Crowley turned and noticed Bobby's frown.

The demon smirked slightly. "Don't worry old man. Growly is stayin' with us."

Everyone gathered around into a huddled circle as Crowley briefly outlined the plan, and even Dean had to admit the demon knew what he was doing, and it was pretty solid. He still wasn't comfortable with the whole "_let's trust Crowley with pretty much everything including our lives_," but like Bobby had said, they didn't have much choice.

They'd use the RV and the truck as a ram to get through the fence and barrel through the large body of walkers defending the entrance. The hellhounds and demon lackeys would hold off the main body of walkers so the humans could get in the complex. Then it would be up to them to get to the underground bunker and activate the machine.

Heading back to the vehicles, Bobby immediately headed for his truck; tugging the chest of weapons out of the back.

"Alright, so we dunno how many are inside. Glad I brought a small arsenal." He said grimly. The others nodded gratefully, and Bobby threw a glance at a nervous looking Dale.

"You know how to shoot?" He asked gruffly.

Dale managed a grin. "You aint the only one who's been around old timer." The two shared a secretive old man smile.

Dean looked over at his brother. This was really it. They were going to burst in, barrels blazing in yet another show down where the winner takes all.

"Dean." A hand touched his arm, and Dean turned. Castiel looked back at him worriedly.

"Dean if I don't…" He started, but Dean cut him off, pressing a lightning quick kiss to his lips before anyone could see.

"You will." He said firmly. Weapons clattered as they were distributed amongst the group. Sam nodded over to the two, a rifle grasped in his hands and Dean managed a smile.

"Alright. Let's do this."


	14. Chapter 14

**Title**: The Walking Supernatural (14/16)  
**Author**: daksgirl  
**Rating**: R

**Pairings: **Dean/Castiel  
**Genre**: Zombies! Crossover fic of Supernatural meets the Walking Dead.  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Warnings**: Coarse language, **character deaths** like woah, graphic violence and gore, body fluids everywhere.

**Word Count**: 6,277 (WIP) WTF SELF TOO MANY WORDS

**Summary:** The fate of the world hangs in the balance.

**A/N: **This is an absolute MONSTER of a chapter. Sorry bout that. I butchered some more Sumerian this chapter, translation at the end. Without wanting to spoil too much about this chapter, bear with me and have faith guys ;)

…

It was chaos. Pure crazy, shit-your-pants-without-noticing, chaos.

Daryl imagined that it must be what war was like, just this time it involved a helluva lot of dead people.

They had waited until the first rays of dawn had tentatively broken over the horizon before making their move. Every person, demon and human was carrying firepower; most had several guns on their person and pockets stuffed full of ammunition.

Daryl had been unwilling to abandon his trusty crossbow and kept it on his back, a sheath of arrows clipped into the strap. It wouldn't do much good against the first wave, but once they got inside the tighter corridors of the science lab, the crossbow would be his weapon of choice.

The demon, Crowley, had taken the RV, tires kicking up swathes of grass as he slammed the accelerator to the floor. The rest of the group managed to fit on the back of Bobby's truck, Daryl and Sam following behind on the motorcycle. Together they roared down the dirt track towards the fence, the old truck clattering in protest as Bobby pushed it forward, the motorcycle purring smoothly as Daryl coaxed her just behind.

The plan worked well; the huge bulk of the RV slammed through the fencing easily and mowed down several surprised looking walkers in a spray of red; loud meaty thuds cutting off indignant groans as they slammed against the bumper.

Screaming like hounds on a coon hunt, the hellhounds had swarmed through the RV-sized hole eagerly; the demons following closely behind.

At first it looked like they had the upper hand. Walkers were going down in a flurry of blood and viscera, ripped to shreds by the hounds or mowed down by the semi-automatics the demons carried. Daryl had even felt a surge of confidence as he had revved the motorcycle down the track, the motor roaring her own battle cry and Sam whooping something in his ear.

_We can do this._

But just as the humans started to enter the fray, it all went down the shitter.

The walkers around the outside the fence had been the usual type; slow and uncoordinated, easy enough to take out. But the walkers _inside,_ well…they had their shit together.

They worked together, cornering the hounds and forcing the demons back; the air was filled with pained screeches as they tore the hounds to shreds. More walkers poured forth from the smaller buildings, from behind shrubs, from behind vehicles, from goddamn _everywhere._ All of them moving fast and all of them _hungry._

Daryl watched a demon go down.

They had been barking out what must have been Sumerian words, and though a few of the walkers paused in their headlong charge, mostly it didn't do jack all. A young kid, no more than sixteen, tackled the demon around the waist, dragging him down to the floor where the other walkers fell on him; the demon's screams faltering off into wet gurgles.

Bobby's truck slowed to a halt up ahead, and Daryl saw Dean jump out the back, shotgun already firing into the screeching undead as they rushed forward. The motorcycle hit a patch of gore, what was left of one of the hellhounds apparently, and Daryl cursed, trying to get her back under control. She slid to the left, back wheel smacking against a walker as it charged forward at them, teeth bared. Sam put it down with a bullet to the head and Daryl managed to wrestle the motorcycle back under control, plowing through two more walkers until he made it alongside the truck.

Andrea stood on the battered hood, face calm as she sighted down the rifle, nailing one walker after the other with deadly accuracy. Daryl managed a quick look of appraisal. _Damn that girl can shoot._

Bobby was already out of the driver's seat and moving forward; walkers fell down in front of him, screeching unhappily as a large invisible force bowled them over. One middle-aged man dressed in a tattered and bloody mechanic's outfit reached for the old man, fingers hooking into the cuff of his jeans and tugging.

Daryl watched in shocked surprise as the arm just ripped free, blood spraying from now ruined arteries. Bobby managed a quick glance at it, whistling shrilly as he moved past.

"Good boy!" He shouted to the hellhound. "Heel!"

Sam had scrambled free from the motorcycle, slamming the butt of his own gun into the face of an obese woman.

"Come on!" He yelled to Daryl. "We gotta fight our way through!"

Gritting his teeth, Daryl abandoned the motorcycle with a mumbled apology patted into her cool metal, just as three walkers slammed into it; jaws gaping as they reached for him. The shotgun in his hands boomed loudly, though he could hardly hear it over the screeches and screams. He hurried after Sam, grabbing Dale as he passed and pulling the shocked man behind him.

Walkers were _everywhere_.

Daryl saw glimpses of decaying faces as he fired into the roiling mass; he saw missing eyes and teeth, torn ears, bruises, burns , scorched skin and hanging wads of blackened flesh. Every horror known to man lurked here, and they all wanted a piece of _him_.

A female demon ushered them forward into a small cleared area of grass. Dead walkers littered the ground, and the group grimaced as they were forced to step on them. The demon pointed towards the outline of the concrete building directly in front of them. More walkers were coming, some running and others shambling behind.

"You gotta get in there." She said sharply. "We can try and hold these ones off for now, but then you're on your ow-"

She yelled as a walker latched onto her leg, teeth chomping into the vulnerable flesh underneath her jeans. Snarling she fired her semi-automatic; unloading several rounds into the things face.

Daryl turned away, following the tall shape of Sam as they moved forward; into the wave of oncoming undead.

Something slammed into him from the side, and Daryl grunted, feet bracing as he brought up his rifle to shove it away. A boy of no more than seven had latched onto his arm; teeth digging into the stiff leather gauntlets that covered his arms. He could feel the pinch of pressure as it sought to chew the flesh beneath, but the leather held firm.

Daryl pulled the trigger and the thing jerked back, before grinning at him and darting back forward. He had only hit its shoulder, and the boy's arm flapped uselessly, tethered only by a thin string of ligament. Cursing, Daryl aimed and fired again and this time the bullet found the mark. The boy went down, a clean hole gaping through his skull.

There was a loud voice, and the walkers froze up, some withdrawing hastily with hisses of protest. Crowley appeared, a pistol in one hand as he shot two of the creatures, the briefcase clutched in his other.

"Let's go kiddies!" The demon yelled. "Sumerian isn't binding them like before!"

Dean was leading them; Daryl could see his back as the hunter barreled ahead, closely followed by Castiel. Between the two of them they were clearing a path towards their destination, and the others followed them relatively blindly, shooting at anything that moved.

The main building loomed in front of them, watching them ominously as they ran towards it with broken windows for eyes. The front doors were open, more walkers lurching towards them and Dean fired at them, two collapsing in a crumpled heap. Behind the main building Daryl could see the huge concrete rings that Castiel had explained was the particle accelerator itself. They looked even bigger from down here, and he gawped at them briefly before Sam was shoving his arm roughly.

"Don't slow down!" Sam yelled to him, and Daryl snapped out of it, firing at a walker missing an arm as it clumsily attempted to grab the younger Winchester as he barreled past.

Two demons suddenly appeared in front of the group, the smattering of automatic fire cracking across the open space and clearing the rest of the way for them. Daryl nearly tripped over one of the corpses as he followed Sam through the yawning doorway, into the dimly lit corridor beyond.

….

"Now where?" Bobby had to bellow to make himself heard over the gunfire and screeches of the walkers in the small hallway. Castiel glanced down the white corridor, ignoring the smears of bright red blood along the walls and floor.

"We need to get to the main control room, underground."

Damn, how did the damn angel manage to sound so calm? This was a cluster-fuck of a situation, and Bobby wasn't sure he had enough ammo to try another stint like what they just pulled. He could hear the heavy snuffling of the hellhound leaning against his legs, and ran his fingers absently along the creature's spine. His fingers came away wet, and his heart sank. _Goddammit Growly._

"Alright. We need to find some stairs then." Sam managed, eyes wide and face pale as he skidded to a halt beside the two. "Might want to make that sooner rather than later, Crowley's lackeys have the door covered for now but they're gonna come through before long."

The angel nodded.

"To the left." He said, coat swishing as he took off at a jog. Bobby threw Sam a look, but the Winchester merely nodded, turning to beckon behind him. So far everyone had made it in one piece into the place, but judging by the shell-shocked looks on their faces, it wasn't quite time for dancin' or celebratin' yet.

The white corridors were relatively empty, but trashed. Papers were scattered haphazardly around, including broken glass and various equipment. Bobby kicked a box out of his way, deliberately ignoring the sticky red stain that marred the bottom of it.

The power was still on, looked like the backup generator had kicked in, and Bobby sighed in relief. It had been one of his worries; there was no way they could turn the machine on with no power, but finally God had decided to not be too much of an asshole and had given them a break.

The lights flickered above them; casting moving shadows against the walls, and Bobby found himself jumping at them, expecting the dancing shapes to be a walker ready to lunge out at him.

Rounding a corner, the group skirted around a walker lying in the middle of the corridor. Its spine was snapped and it lay on the floor, grabbing for their ankles as they moved past, jaw wriggling from side to side as it chattered at them with broken teeth.

Daryl grimaced at it, and with one booted foot put it out of its misery.

The corridors seemed to stretch endlessly on, but the angel leading them turned down a smaller hallway, ducking through a splintered door. A dark staircase stretched down beyond it; completely unlit.

Bobby peered down into the black depths dubiously. "Aw hell."

Crowley moved past him, glancing down into the blackness.

"Wonderful." He looked back over at the older man, smirking slightly. The effect was dampened somewhat by the splatter of blood across one cheek, but Bobby had to give the demon props for trying. "Ladies first."

Scowling, Dean shoved past the demon. Keeping his back to the wall, he moved down the first couple steps, craning his neck to look down towards the bottom.

Sam shifted anxiously, moving behind his brother to peer over his shoulder. "See anything?" He asked worriedly.

"Oh yeah Sam, I can see London, I can see France, heck I can even see your lady underpants." Dean said sarcastically.

Bobby frowned, not relishing the thought of descending into the unknown not being able to see. "Don't suppose there's another way down?" He asked hopefully.

Castiel shook his head. "The elevators would be…unwise to use. Allow me." The angel took up point, moving down the dark stairs and disappearing from view.

With an angry murmur, Dean followed, shotgun gripped in front of him.

Slowly the rest of the group followed, Daryl bringing up the rear. Bobby could feel his heart pounding, and he reached out with one hand, feeling his way along the brick wall. _Take it easy old timer, breathe. _The brick was rough against his palm, and the old hunter took a moment to breathe deeply, attempting to calm his racing heart and the adrenaline that raced through his veins. He could feel the hellhound bumping against the back of his legs, and Bobby patted it gently.

"Good boy." He murmured, feeling the hellhound's warm breath pant against his hand as the creature whined at him.

"Why thank you darling, I thought I was quite good too."

Bobby rolled his eyes in the darkness, glad that it was too dark for the demon to see his smile. _Stop makin' me almost like you._

"Shut up Crowley, ya idjit demon."

After a few grumbles and yelps amongst the group as they bumped and spooked each other on the way down the dark staircase, they managed to make it to the bottom unscathed. They spilled out into yet another corridor, and each breathed a sigh of relief to find the lights on.

The corridor seemed slightly less hit than the upper level; no papers littered the ground or broken glass, and Bobby relaxed slightly.

Dean moved slightly away from the group towards what looked like an office. A notice board was hung along one wall, a plethora of glossy, important looking photos pinned to the cork.

"Great. Now all we have to do is find the-" Dean yelped as a walker lunged out at him from the open doorway.

She had been a scientist; a tattered bloody lab coat flapped around her as she scuttled forward, forcing the hunter up against the wall as she snapped at him. Underneath the lab coat she had been wearing a blue blouse that now hung in tatters, revealing the cups of a white bra beneath. Below that yawned a gaping sticky hole in her abdomen, her intestines dangling wetly against her thighs. She mouthed at Dean's face but was held back by the shotgun he had thrown up in front of him as he yelled hoarsely.

Her skull erupted in a shower of brains and bone fragments; a shotgun blast ringing loudly in the small corridor. Castiel watched grimly as the walker slid to the floor, lowering his weapon, eyes hard glints of icy blue. Dean watched the angel with wide eyes, chest heaving.

"Thanks Cas." He grinned breathlessly.

….

The control room turned out to be more of a storage hanger. It was large, a good couple hundred feet across, two large pipes coming from the walls to join in the center of the room feeding into a large clear Plexiglass box. In front of the clear box was a control panel that looked like it had been plucked from a Frankenstein movie; complete with flashing dials, switches and levers. Castiel hurried over to it, studying the panel closely as the others scanned the room.

Luckily it seemed empty, and Crowley strode forward next to the angel, setting the briefcase down carefully.

"We have to secure the doors." He glanced around, frowning. "My demons can't hold them off for long and we'll have company soon."

The only entrance into the hanger was the double doors they came through, and together the group scoured the room from something to brace against the steel doors.

They found some heavy metal canisters, and together managed to roll them back towards the door; forming a small blockade. Dale found a length of heavy chain, and Sam hefted it through the iron handles, ramming an iron pipe through the links to hold it shut.

Castiel and Crowley were still studying the control panel, occasionally glancing up at the see-through box. The general understanding was that the particle would form within the box, but neither supernatural being could be sure of what would happen once that had been accomplished.

Crowley eyed the panel cautiously, one finger curiously tapping a flickering yellow bulb. "What you reckon angel? Might need some demonic assistance?"

The angel was running his hands over the panel, frowning as he studied the various gauges and dials.

"I believe that may be prudent." He said. "I can begin the process, but I am unsure there is enough power generated by the backup generator to ensure the machine reaches full particle acceleration velocity."

Crowley sighed, rolling the sleeves of his coat up to his elbows. "You know angel, I keep giving and giving, when do I get to receive a little, hmm?"

Castiel glared at him sharply. "When we save the world perhaps."

Bobby cracked his neck, squaring his shoulders as he nodded to the two at the control panel. "If you two are finished flirtin' maybe we can get this party started? Let's turn the son-of-a-bitch on and get this over with."

Crowley smirked, placing both his hands against the control panel, palms flat against the metal.

"Jealous, Bobby?"

His voice was light, but the demon's expression was serious, concentration etched into his brow as Castiel moved beside him. The angel reached out his hand, pausing slightly over a large switch, labeled '**Mains electricity**'. He threw a questioning look at the demon and Crowley nodded.

"Do it." He ground.

The group braced themselves as the angel flicked it; half expecting the room to suddenly collapse on them.

Nothing happened however, and for a moment they simply stared around in blank surprise.

"Did…is it working?" Dale asked worriedly.

Castiel frowned. "I am unsure, I suppose perhaps-"

"Quiet!" Crowley snapped, his voice strained.

He was pressing his palms against the metal hard enough his fingers had turned a bloodless white, and his arms shook slightly. The group fell silent, and for a tense terrifying moment it seemed that nothing would happen.

Then, slowly, a red light above the control panel began to flash; casting a red glow over the demon's straining face. An alarm ground to life, honking hoarsely and machinery clanked into gear, whirring and shaking.

Castiel leaned forward, watching one of the dials, flicking a few more switches and pressing some buttons. The alarm began to honk faster, a mechanical voice wavering over it in a tinny voice.

"_Warning, particle accelerator in use. Experiment in process. Warning. Core acceleration to begin in 20….19….18…"_

It was working.

…..

The clanking and whirring grew into a dull whine, the whole place appearing to shake as the huge machine began to thrum. Dean grimaced as the robotic voice rose in volume.

"_Warning. Particle accelerator in use. Core acceleration to begin in 10….9….8…"_

"Guys?" Andrea's voice was worried even over the noise, and he turned to look at the blonde. She was staring at the door, rifle held tight into her shoulder.

"Oh shit."

The door was buckling; the chain stretched tight across the door and links straining. Dale pushed up against the metal containers, and Sam joined him, both straining to keep the door shut.

The commotion they had caused in the heart of the hive had not gone un-noticed by the workers.

Dean could see the glimpses of rotting flesh through the edges of the door, and brought his shotgun up. _This is it. All systems go, Winchester._

"Cas! We got company!" He bellowed over his shoulder.

"Hold them off!" The angel yelled back. "At least until-"

The angel was drowned out by a loud horn blare.

"_Warning. Core acceleration engaged. Beginning particle collisions in 3…2…1…"_

An explosion rocked the room and Dean found himself slamming into the concrete floor; sharp shards of pain exploding along his left side as he hit the ground. Alarms were blaring loudly, so loud he couldn't even hear himself _think_, and he curled up on the floor, his ears ringing.

Then, the room fell silent.

A deathly quiet filled the room, disturbed only by the rhythmic pounding of the walkers outside.

"What the _fuck-_"Daryl's voice was loud in the sudden silence, and Dean lifted his head up.

The Plexiglass box was no longer see-through. Something…it looked almost like black oily _smoke_, had enveloped it; swallowing it whole and oozing along the floor.

The seeping blackness moved like ink in water; bleeding through the air in greasy tendrils, curling along the tubes holding it in place. It was foul and unnatural, and Dean could feel the hairs on the back of his arms and neck stand to attention at its presence.

"Holy shit." Sam scrambled to his feet, eyes wide. "We did it."

"They're coming!" Andrea's panicked shout brought their attention back to the heaving door, and Dean struggled up, joints twinging in protest. _Right, the walkers._

Crowley yanked his hands away from the control panel, forehead sweaty and face pale as he stared at the terrible blackness. "Whatever happens, we have to complete this ritual."

Castiel nodded absently beside him, eyes wide and staring into the dark abyss. The demon grabbed his arm, shaking the angel hard.

"You hear me Cas? We have to do this _now_." He snarled. Jolted from his stupor, Castiel shook himself, eyes focusing again.

"Yes..of…of course." He didn't comment on the use of nickname, it hardly seemed important now.

Crowley cursed, taking a piece of paper from the inside of his coat and grabbing the briefcase beside him. He handed the paper to the angel, and Castiel took it numbly, eyes scanning the words.

"Just keep chanting, and whatever happens, _don't stop._" The demon said grimly.

"Don't we need candles or something?" Sam asked nervously, eyeing the paper dubiously. It seemed almost too easy, the salvation of the world copied onto a simple piece of A4, words scrawled in Bobby's spidery writing.

Bobby squeezed his arm, eyes never leaving the buckling metal door as he pulled the younger Winchester around to face the door with him.

"The power is in the words and the souls, son. We just gotta hope that's enough, and keep these son-of-a-bitches busy until they're done."

Castiel's voice rose over the roaring of the walkers outside, Crowley bellowing the same words a few seconds after.

"_Peta babkama lumba anaku, erset la Toril!_"

"_Ati me peta babka!"_

Dean watched the rift over his shoulder, gun still trained on the heaving door. The oily blackness seemed to shimmer wetly as the two supernatural beings chanted, and the hunter watched it with morbid fascination.

"_Usella mitati inkalu baltuti, na za ana simtim alaku!"_

The metal doors finally shattered under the strain, metal canisters sent crashing away as the walkers finally made it through. For a moment they all stood in paralyzed shock as hell literally spewed forth from the shattered ruins of the door.

Andrea broke it first; firing into the mass with a hoarse scream, jolting the others into action.

Dean lost track of everyone and everything; his world narrowing into a small field of vision where he destroyed every fucking thing that dared to come at him.

A woman limped into view, glasses askew on her slack face. She dragged her left leg behind her, the limb caked with dried blood and foot missing a shoe. Blood ran from her chin and trickled down the grimy line of her throat as she uttered a chuffing grunt, eyes trained on the hunter. The sounds of battle echoed all around them, and Dean bared his teeth at her.

"Come on then bitch." He ground. "Let's see what you've got."

…..

Sam alternated between firing, reloading, and using his gun as a club as the undead poured into the room around them. Luckily the door created a bit of a bottleneck, and Dale stood braced on one of the higher metal lockers, picking the creatures off as they attempted to force their way through. The bodies that dropped helped hinder some of the others progress, but most simply clambered over their fallen brethren without a second thought.

Daryl stood a little off to Sam's right; the man had taken up his crossbow and was wielding it with deadly accuracy, but the arrows wouldn't last long.

Daryl gurgled suddenly, and Sam spun his rifle around as the man was pulled back.

"Daryl!"

A walker had grabbed him from behind, and Sam had to gape incredulously at it for a moment. One of Dale's bullets had hit it with accuracy, but not quite enough to put it down for good. It rose up behind Daryl, tissue and blood running down the side of its face. Its brain, still intact, pulsed from inside its ruined head. It had wrapped its fingers around Daryl's throat, its few remaining teeth in its lower jaw slavering across the back of his neck, and Daryl's eyes were wide with fear.

"Oh come _on_." Sam snarled. "Die already!"

Not wanting to accidently shoot his friend, Sam strode forward in two quick steps, forcefully slamming the butt of his rifle into the creature's face. It fell back with a gurgle, releasing Daryl, and Sam spun the gun around to fully destroy it for good.

Daryl smiled shakily at him and Sam squeezed his arm, reassuring himself the guy was ok.

"Thanks." He rasped.

The two turned back to the fight, just in time to challenge a heavyset woman whose lower lip was split and hung in two beefy flaps. She grinned at them, and Sam grimaced, smacking her across the face with the rifle. She stumbled back and Daryl took the advantage to put an arrow between her eyes.

Sam's heart sank as even more things just took her place. Castiel and Crowley's combined voices rose over the roars, and Sam steeled himself. No matter what, they had to keep going. The whole _world_ was at stake. Gritting his teeth, Sam threw himself back into the fray.

…

Andrea had never considered herself to be special, or to have any good talents. Amy used to tease her that Andrea _was_ special; retardedly so. That would always lead to a good-natured bickering match which always concluded with Amy in a headlock and Andrea messing up her hair unmercifully.

But here in the middle of the apocalypse, at the end of days, Andrea had finally found her special talent. She only wished Amy had been alive to see it.

She could shoot walkers.

She plowed bullet after bullet into the heads of the monsters that had stolen her sister from her, relishing their grunts of pain and the sound of their corpses slumping to the floor. They poured through the ruined doorway like cockroaches, and she was going to exterminate them. _Each and every one._

Blind rage and fury fueled her on, and the pile surrounding the door grew. An obese man attempted to grab her arm but she blew a hole clear through his forehead, turning on her heel to deliver the same sentence to a middle aged woman dressed like a librarian.

She aimed at a walker scuttling towards her on all fours; knees bent backwards and shinbone punching through the rotting skin. The rifle clicked in her hands and she cursed, hand fumbling in her coat pocket for more ammo.

Something heavy punched her in the stomach, and Andrea inhaled sharply, eyes wide. Everything seemed to slow down sluggishly, and she looked bewilderedly at the creature as it skittered backwards away from her.

It grinned, teeth stained red with blood. _My blood. _She thought numbly.

Andrea felt her legs give out, her knees slamming to the hard concrete. Something wet was running down her thighs, and numbly she clutched at her abdomen with one hand, feeling her fingers sink into her own ruined flesh easily. _Fucking bastard got me…_

She tried to breathe, but fluid in her lungs gurgled, blood spraying from her mouth.

The walker bore down on her again, black eyes glittering with malice. It mouthed obscenities at her with a ruined mouth; promised acts of torture and debasement.

Somehow, she wasn't sure how, she rammed her rifle forward, the barrel clicking against its cheekbone. In one last herculean feat of strength, she pushed upward and was rewarded as the barrel slid smoothly into the creature's eye; metal crunching along the bone of the socket. It screeched angrily, clawing at its face as it toppled forward.

She let go of the gun as the creature hit the floor; the rifle sliding all the way home in a spray of black blood.

Andrea managed a weak smile of victory before rotting fingers grabbed her from behind, another pulling her down onto her back.

Her last thought was of Amy, of the sister she had lost.

_I'm coming Amy, I'm coming._

….

Dean stared down the undead with false bravado. They had cornered him up against another control panel. Dials dug into his back with sharp twinges of pain, and as they advanced, he twisted, boots scrabbling against smooth metal as he clambered on top of it. The walkers glared up at him, hissing, decaying hands reaching for him which he kicked away with shouted obscenities. There was a certain awareness glittering in their dead eyes now, a breathless sense of some enormous otherworldly power, barely held in check.

Cas's voice rose in volume, Crowley's voice faltering as he attempted to match the angel.

"_Edin na zu, alla xul! Maskim xal!"_

"_Edin na zu alla xul…Ma…maski…m xa…a-"_

Dean turned at the demon's hitched voice, gaping momentarily before shooting at the creature that clung to the demons neck.

It ducked the blast, teeth burrowing deeper into the demon's vulnerable shoulder. Crowley's face was pinched with pain, but he didn't falter, bellowing out the words even as the walker yanked it's head back, taking with it a sizeable chunk of Crowley.

Another walker lunged at him, grabbing his arm and forcing the demon down onto his knees on the concrete. The briefcase slammed to the ground, skidding a short distance away. Dean aimed for the second walker, fingers gripping the gun tightly as he sighted down the metal, slick with gore.

"Bite this you evil _fuck_!" He roared.

There was an empty click.

The demon disappeared under more of the things, his voice trailing off into a wet gurgle as Dean scrambled to reload.

Another voice rose over the victorious screeching and suddenly Cas was there, shouting Sumerian and kicking the feeding walkers away. Dean finally managed to reload; blasting two walkers with one bullet.

"_Usella mitati inkalu baltuti, na za ana simtim alaku alal ana harrani sa alaktasa la tarat_!"

With screeches of protest the swarming creatures fell back, the bloody form of Crowley weakly struggling free. Castiel grabbed the discarded briefcase, smacking a walker in the face with it as he hurried back to the demon's side. Crowley slumped against the control panel on his knees, one hand clapped to his bleeding neck as the angel sank down beside him. With a shaking, shredded hand, the demon reached for the briefcase, hand slapping against the shiny black leather and leaving a smear of blood.

"_A…ati me pet…a babka_." He murmured from bloodied torn lips.

With a loud whooshing noise, the briefcase snapped open, a blinding inferno of light bursting forth accompanied by baying screams of protest as the walkers stumbled back.

Dean shielded his eyes, sinking onto his heels as he shouted triumphantly from his perch above the undead.

_We did it,_ he thought numbly._ Come on…_

But when he uncovered his eyes, the inky blackness remained. The walkers crowed triumphantly, decaying fingers clawing at the pale demon and dragging him back towards them whilst Castiel shouted at them; trying to grab the demon back.

Dean's eyes met Crowley's, the demon's brown eyes resigned and empty as he was tugged back into their decaying embraces, disappearing from view.

_It didn't work. _

Sam's eyes met his across the heaving mass, and Dean could see his abject terror before he turned away, swinging his rifle in front of him left and right; determined to fight until the very end.

The walkers surged forward again, and Dean caught a glimpse of Daryl before he disappeared from view; punching the creatures with his bare hands as the guns failed against the sheer number of the undead. It wasn't enough. Of course it wasn't.

_We're going to die._ He thought numbly. _Everyone._ _The whole freakin' world._

They were pulling at his boots now; dead fingers snapping and cracking like dried twigs as he stomped on them angrily. He threw a glance at the shiny blackness in the center of the room. It looked almost like it was pulsing now, throbbing in victory at not having been defeated. The souls hadn't been enough. There was nothing left now but to wait for the inevitable end of the world.

_Unless_….

Maybe it just needed more juice. The souls Crowley had collected were damned, tainted by hell and not nearly as powerful as the souls the rift must have consumed from heaven. Maybe it wasn't so much the_ quantity_, but the _quality_.

Dean stared at the spreading blackness, a plan forming in his head.

A walker tried to sink its teeth into his shin, and Dean slammed the rifle into his forehead; knocking it off the panel. They had encircled him, rotting faces twisted in grotesque expressions of triumph.

Castiel had retreated on top of a metal canister, hurling Sumerian curses into the roiling mass of undead below, his face a mask of unchecked fury.

"Cas!" Dean had to shout to make himself heard over the terrible noise, but the angel heard, turning icy blue eyes towards him. Noticing the walkers surrounding the hunter, his expression turned to one of pure terror, and he lurched forward slightly, shoes balancing precariously on the edge of the metal container.

"_Dean_!" He shouted, his voice thick with fear. "DEAN!"

Another walker was hauling itself up onto the panel and Dean shoved it away half-heartedly. This was it. The words were there on his tongue, and he forced himself to smile, despite the complete horror of the whole fucked up situation.

_Typical Winchester. _

It only took a life or death situation and the end of the world for him to finally say the simplest thing. This one last time, before the end of everything.

"I love you!" He bellowed over the din, heart pounding, and for the first time since getting to the damned complex, it wasn't because of the walkers.

The angel froze, staring at him incredulously as death clawed at his shoes.

Dean shoved another walker, spreading his arms with a crazy grin. The thing flopped back to the concrete with a wet splat.

"You hear me? I love you, you crazy bastard! _I love you Cas!_"

Castiel's eyes were wide, his hair disheveled and wet with blood and gore, his clothes ripped and bloody, but in that moment, Dean had never thought him more beautiful.

He kept that image of the angel burned into his mind as he turned, throwing himself off the control panel into the mass of undead. He crushed a woman in black under his weight, blood squirting into his face as he kicked free from her grasping hands, pushing through the surrounding undead towards the shimmering rift.

He felt several latch onto him, teeth tearing past his coat and jeans to the flesh beneath. Dean grunted, pushing forward with single-minded intent, eyes trained on the blackness in front of him, ignoring the pain that radiated along his skin.

Castiel was screaming at him, and he could hear Sam's hoarse shout from somewhere to his left but Dean kept moving forward, wading further into the walkers that swarmed towards him.

_I'm sorry Sammy. Maybe you'll forgive me one day. You and Cas. _

He tugged himself free of one walker, feeling the flesh being torn from his shoulder. Another clawed at his face and he felt the flesh rip loose, blood stinging his eyes, but still he ploughed forward.

The rift glimmered in front of him, only a few paces away. It looked even worse up close, a constantly shifting slick blackness. The walkers were screeching at him, hands tearing and clawing at him to pull him back, but Dean continued, pushing through the decaying corpses.

_Fuck you zombies, Winchesters don't go down easy._

He stretched out one bloody and shredded arm, fingers outstretched. The very tips of his fingers brushed against the slick blackness, and the walkers screamed, desperately trying to pull him back into their midst. Something snapped in his left leg accompanied with a rush of warm fluid and Dean felt them winning, drawing him back and away. Growling, he slammed his right leg forward, throwing his weight into a forward fall. For a moment, time seemed to pause; the blackness yawning in front of him, arms outstretched and an army of the undead behind, reaching for him.

Then, the moment was over and Dean tumbled straight into the inky black smoke of the rift.

He could still hear Castiel screaming as the blackness enveloped him; his skin crackling and burning. He opened his mouth to scream but his tongue turned to cinders, his lips cracking and splitting open. It was like hell all over again, but so much worse.

His last thought before burning up completely was a tiny plea that it was enough. That _he_ could be enough to save the world.

After all, what was purer than the soul of the righteous man touched by an angel?

…..

Translation

_Open the gate for me so that I can enter here, land of no return._

_Gatekeeper, open your gate for me._

_Raise up the dead here consuming the living, go to your fate._

_Go to the desert evil god. Evil fiend!_

_Raise up the dead here consuming the living, go to your fate, down the road whose course does not turn back._

_Gatekeeper open your gate for me._


	15. Chapter 15

**Title**: The Walking Supernatural (15/16)  
**Author**: daksgirl  
**Rating**: PG-13

**Pairings: **Dean/Castiel  
**Genre**: Zombies! Crossover fic of Supernatural meets the Walking Dead.  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Warnings**: Coarse language, **heavy religious themes**, possible blasphemy

**Word Count**: 4,120 (WIP)

**Summary:** Dean has a heart to heart with someone he really didn't expect.

A/N at end of chapter to avoid spoiling you. :)

….

He was lying on something hard, spread on his front with his cheek pressed to a grainy substance that felt like sand. Consciousness came back to him slowly, and he groaned, cautiously stretching out his limbs. He ached, but nothing seemed broken.

_What the hell just happened-_

His eyes shot open as it all came flooding back to him. _Walkers. Illinois, ritual,…Cas…_

Slowly, in disbelief, Dean raised himself up, wincing as he struggled to his feet.

He stood on a vast empty plain of desert. Cracked white earth stretched on as far as the eye could see, spread beneath a pale blue sky. White clouds scudded across the sky at impossible speeds, yet there was no wind. There were no trees, no grass, and no life. It was light, yet he couldn't see a sun.

"What the-" his voice seemed to echo across the empty expanse, and Dean winced, turning in a wide circle. _Nothing. Just miles and miles of-_

_Wait. _Squinting, he could just make out a dark smudge on the horizon; something black. There was a faint sound, an ominous rumbling of something awful, and Dean trembled for a moment. _It didn't work; they're still here, oh god._

"Don't worry about them." A deep voice said. "I'll deal with them later."

Dean whirled around to see a man standing before him. He stood nonchantly, barefoot on the dry cracked earth. Judging by the huge wings that stretched behind his back, he wasn't just a man, but an angel.

"What is this? Heaven?" Dean demanded. _Please, not hell._

A dull roar echoed from the horizon, but the angel didn't move. His wings arched up behind him; beautiful golden hues slipping between the mottled brown feathers. It reminded Dean of an eagle as they spread under his scrutiny.

The angel was dressed simply, in a plain white tunic and loose cotton white pants. His chestnut brown hair was wavy and thick, a slight hint of stubble along his jaw. His eyes were kind, a brilliant blue that seemed to shift to shades of jade as he smiled.

He looked like how Dean had imagined angels to look as a small child, the type his mother had told him about; kind and caring. His bare toes dug into the dirt, small clouds of dust rising as he started to approach the hunter.

"No, think of it as more of a…place in-between." The angel said, stopping a few feet away. Closer up, the wings looked even more impressive, the feathers rustling slightly even though there was no breeze.

"Am I dead?"

The angel nodded with a kind smile. "For the time being."

"Did…did it work?" Dean asked desperately. "Was it…was I enough?"

"Yes." The angel's eyes softened and those beautiful wings shifted. "You saved the world Dean. Your sacrifice gave the ritual that last push it needed; you managed to seal the rift."

He wasn't even surprised the angel knew his name. How this one escaped the collapse of heaven he didn't know, but so far he didn't seem dangerous.

"So, if I'm dead…why am I here? What do you want?" Dean asked suspiciously.

The angel folded his hands together serenely. "To talk to you of course. It's not everyday I get the opportunity, and I wanted to thank you. For saving the world. You and your brother have a wonderful habit of doing that."

Dean stared at him. There was something…not quite right. Dean had always gotten this, _feeling_, around angels, Cas included. It was like a presence, a shift in the air that was telling, the power of a creature so unlike him the air shook with it.

This guy wasn't setting off any supernatural radar. He just felt…human.

"You're not an angel." Dean said slowly.

The creature chuckled lowly, shaking his head. "No, I am not."

Dean felt a stab of fear. _What now?_ _No weapons, no…nothing. I'm screwed. Again._

"What are you?" He demanded, body already gearing for a fight, hands balling into fists.

The creature's brow furrowed in thought. It looked so out of place, so perfectly _human_, that it caught Dean by surprise.

"Well, that's the question isn't it? Sometimes I wonder that myself. But to you…" The creature shrugged, his wings folding tighter into his body. "Well, I suppose you'd know me as God."

Dean could only stare blankly as his mind kicked into overdrive. _Impossible._

The creature, God_- and fuck did that sound so wrong_, didn't seem offended by his surprise.

"I have many names, Dean, and many faces. What you see right now is something I crafted for myself to help you comprehend me. I have no true body or gender, not in the way you understand."

A reaction was probably needed right about now. Dean swallowed hard, blinking.

"You're God."

God spread His hands widely, a slight smile playing on His lips. "Yes."

Dean was having a hard time. First, he had been fighting walkers and gotten torn to shreds, then he was dead, and now he's meeting freaking _God_? There's only so much a guy can take.

"Seriously?"

His answer was an affectionate smile and a slight nod.

"Oh my Go…I mean, _Jesus Chr-_….goddam…oh fudge." Dean managed helplessly, for once at a complete loss at what to say or do. He was talking to freaking _God_.

There was a deep laugh. "It's all right Dean, I understand this is a little…difficult to grasp."

He took a step forward, and Dean nearly took a step back before he caught himself. _This is so beyond me_. He thought. _Why can't this have been Sammy? I bet he'd know what to say to God. Do I have to call him Majesty? Lord? Father? Fuck I don't know._

Dean seized up. _Wait can he read minds? Oh god. I mean...shit. Wait that's not…great. Hell, population: Winchester._

If He could read minds _(which hello, GOD, he probably could)_ He didn't say anything about Dean's inner spaz out.

"The world would have been destroyed if it hadn't been for you and your friends. The world owes you a great debt."

Memories of the battle came flooding back, a terrified Cas reaching for him, Sam's shout as Daryl went under, Crowley's empty look of acceptance. Anger roiled within him then and Dean forgot his panic about manners when conversing with deities.

"Yeah well, if you hadn't left your kids running wild we might not have been in this situation in the first place." He growled. If he was going back to hell for pissing off God, he might as well do it right.

God's eyes never left his. They were a chocolate brown now, and as Dean watched they shifted to a warm gold. "Kids have to grow up one day."

"And bring about the apocalypse?"

"I never said I was a particularly _good_ father."

The clouds continued to pass them overhead, and at a loss for words, Dean watched them, tracking their progress across the pale sky. _What I wouldn't give for a normal life._

Finally, he dragged his eyes back to the being in front of him.

"So is it true? We unleashed the walkers?"

"You unleashed something you weren't supposed to…but you also stopped it." God smiled again, wings shivering slightly as He stretched them wide. "Humans, just when I think I've seen it all…you continue to surprise me."

Dean shifted impatiently. "But what was the point? Why are we even _here_?"

God laughed. "You want the meaning of life? What makes you think _I_ know any more than you?"

"Well, cause you're freaking GOD, for one."

"Even I don't have all the answers, Dean. Not only would that be too easy, it wouldn't be any fun."

Dean threw his hands up in frustration.

"We _needed_ you! When Lucifer was trashing the world, where were you? When everyone was dying for no reason, where _were_ you?" Dean was shouting now, but didn't care, pouring his anger and frustration from the past few months, to several _years' _worth, into his words.

"You could have stopped it all! Instead you did _nothing_. Where were you when my Mom died? When Dad decided to sacrifice himself? When demons decided to turn Sam into a demonic bloodsucker? When Ellen and Jo were killed?"

His hands had balled into angry fists, his jaw clenching. "Hell enough about me, what about the walkers? Or even the wars? Where were you during the freaking holocaust huh? The atomic bomb? Humanity has been one long line of _fuck ups_ thanks to you."

_Yeah nice going Winchester, piss off God._

But there was no fire or brimstone that came raining down on his head, no angry voice or smiting. God stood perfectly still, eyes serious as they looked back at him; never once leaving his face.

"You're right Dean. I didn't do anything. YOU did it all on your own. _You_ crawled out of the ocean. _You_ took that first lung-full of air. _You_, in all your imperfect glory, did what I could never have done; _you_ evolved, adapted, and grew. All I did was give you a little push in the beginning." His wings had arched behind him, fanning out to their full span, thin tendrils of gold shimmering between downy mottled brown feathers.

"Yes, you are capable of terrible things. _Awful_ things. But you're also capable of amazing love. Wondrous feats of kindness, beautiful moments of peace. Good and bad, humanity went on just fine without my interference."

Dean shook his head, finding those eyes too much and dropping his own to study the jagged cracks in the dirt. The clouds continued to move by overhead, aided by a non-existent breeze.

"But where _were _you?" He finally whispered, shoulders slumped, and anger defeated. "Where were you when Sammy died? When I was rotting in hell? When I…" His voice cracked and he fell silent.

_When I tortured people. So many people. I can never be forgiven for that._

God stepped towards him, leaning forward. Slowly He reached out His arm, a palm pressing against Dean's chest, directly above his heart. Dean could feel it beating inside his ribcage, slow and strong.

"Right here." God murmured, pressing harder against him. "I never left, Dean."

Nothing made sense. Dean's brain hurt, and nothing made any goddamn _sense_.

"I was there." God's voice was firm, His palm not leaving Dean's chest. "Every moment of every second I was _there,_ Dean. Every soul, every cut, every scream."

Those shifting eyes bore into him. "I am always with you. I see everything. Every triumph, every loss, and I experience it with you. Every person, that ever was and ever will be, I'm there."

Immediately an array of one-night stands flitted through his mind, of hot nights and sticky mornings, of shameful secrets uttered into the darkness, a certain dark-haired blue eyed angel kissing the life out of him. God had seen all that? Wasn't that like your father constantly spying on you when …_oh great._

Dean wrinkled his nose with a look of disgust. "Okay, gross." A hot rush of shame filled his stomach. What would God say about Dean debasing one of his own angels? A very _male shaped_ one at that_. He must have seen…crap._ _That was a sin wasn't it?_

God laughed, teeth flashing white. "You of all people should know Dean; I'm indifferent to sexual orientation. When it comes to love, the little things really just don't matter."

He had a retort for that one. "But the Bible…" Dean started.

God snorted. Actually _snorted._ It was such a human gesture that Dean couldn't help but smile.

"Yes well, nothing's perfect. Some people really weren't looking for the meaning of life; they were looking for a way to control it. Sometimes you're just better off with an _idea_."

"What about Jesus then?"

God just smiled, tapping His nose mysteriously, eyes twinkling.

Dean sighed heavily. "So…you're in everyone. Ok I get that…sorta. But…demons?"

God nodded. "Even demons."

"So…you're some sort of alien?"

God laughed again. It made Dean think of home, of his mother and apple pies. It was just…right.

"Dean, I am beyond your comprehension. Think of me as more of a feeling, a way of being. Without going too hippy on you, I'm _love_."

God turned and began walking, gesturing for Dean to join Him. Numbly Dean followed, and the two began to walk towards the dark smudge on the horizon, feet scuffing the dry earth beneath them.

"True evil, horror and suffering, is the absence of love. Love has the power to stop wars, to save people. The love you have for your brother, for Castiel, for the _world_…it saved us all."

Dean frowned, shoving his hands in his pockets pensively. God walked beside him, wings folded neatly into His back.

"I really don't understand." Dean confessed. "In my experience love _hurts_. It messes you up, makes you bleed, and festers."

He thought of his father, of John Winchester. So devastated by Mary's death he took his boys off into the dark murky world of the unknown. Their family had been doomed from day one, to be a broken and useless thing that Dean would spend the rest of his life trying to fix, whilst Sam kept trying to run away from it.

God looked solemn.

"Then perhaps you need to take a deeper look into yourself, because there are a lot of people who love you, Dean. Your parents, your brother, Bobby, many broken hearted women across the States…" God smiled as Dean looked at the ground, bashfully.

"And of course, perhaps most important of all, Castiel. His love for you is powerful Dean. He died for you. He rebelled. You know..." God broke off, amused, tapping His chin with a finger thoughtfully. "I do believe he loves you more than he could ever love me."

Dean had a moment of panic. _Surely that's blasphemy or something_.

"You're not going to smite him for that are you?" He asked worriedly.

Again, that amused smile. "No, Dean. It is as it should be."

The blackness on the horizon was getting closer; the earth beginning to tremble beneath his feet. He should be afraid, but Dean found he wasn't; not with the present company.

"You brought Cas back that time. After Raphael….." Dean swallowed hard. _Not a moment he liked to re-live._ "Why?"

God turned to him, leaning forward slightly, conspiratorially.

"Can I tell you a secret?" There was a mischievous glint in His eyes. "Castiel was always my favorite. He was such a tiny thing in the beginning, so curious about mankind. Of all the angels that flew into hell to raise you, it was him who found you. Of all the angels to begin questioning and begin really _thinking_…it was him. Of all of them to truly grasp _love_…."

God smiled, pulling away to look back ahead. "He may have been the last angel, but he is also the first in many things."

There was too much information there for Dean to process. "I thought thinking and questioning was bad. Isn't that what got Satan thrown into the pit?"

"Lucifer?" God looked almost abashed, His wings twitching slightly. "I was a bit wilder back in the day, and Lucifer was always throwing tantrums. I thought a time out would cool him off. It worked out…differently, than I had anticipated."

Dean could only shake his head in disbelief.

"Un-freaking-believable. The angels had this stupid plan, and my whole family is dead because of it. All because you put Lucifer in a time out? Great. Thanks. We could have been normal, happy family if you had bothered to help out now and then." He said bitterly.

God didn't stop walking, but reached out, resting a hand gently on the hunter's arm.

"You're right, I didn't do anything. Perhaps I _could_ have changed things. But what would have happened then, Dean?"

Dean shrugged his shoulder sullenly, and God retracted His hand. "Someone else would have saved the world. Everyone would still be alive; my parents…Jo and Ellen..."

God tilted his head to one side that was so reminiscent of a certain angel it made Dean's heart skip a beat.

"Perhaps. But that's not what happened." He drew to a halt, turning to face the hunter fully.

"There are some things even _I_ can't do. Things I _shouldn't_ do. I gave you free will Dean, for better or for worse." The sad smile aimed at him made Dean's heart clench and he felt a rush of shame for being angry and bitter. "It was my gift to mankind, and though you might not see it, it _is _a gift. To make your own decisions, to _choose_. You can't blame the angels for wanting a part of that gift too."

God sighed heavily, shaking His head.

"If it hadn't been you, it would have been another, and perhaps they would not have been as successful." God shot him a smile as He started to walk again, Dean following. "And I am so very thankful it _was_ you."

They continued on in comfortable silence. Dean lost track of time, not sure if such a concept actually existed here; wherever here was.

A chasm yawned in front of them, and both paused at the edge of it, Dean staring down into it's darkness with morbid fascination. Terrible creatures were trapped there, awful horrors in the abyss, screeching and screaming, raging to be released from their new prison.

They didn't inspire any fear in him however; these creatures couldn't harm anyone, not any more.

"What's going to happen to the world now?" Dean asked quietly.

God looked out over the chasm, eyes distant. "Life goes on. Not quite the same as it used to be of course, but it will. I will restore Heaven and all the souls there."

"No more zombies?"

"No more zombies."

Dean turned away from the chasm. "But what about the demons? Monsters?"

God looked over at him, eyes crinkling with affection. "They're just as part of the world as you are Dean, I can't change that. There is no good without evil, no dark without light."

God chuckled at Dean's look of despair. "However, you will not fight alone. Life will not be easy in the days and months to come. The world has to try and regain its balance. The demons will return, as will the monsters. Therefore I think it's about time we leveled the playing field."

God reached out, grasping Dean's shoulder. Castiel's brand hummed just beneath His hand, and Dean gasped slightly.

"I am sending the angels to earth, to live amongst you. They're not doing anyone any good stuck up there in heaven, getting bored and hatching ridiculous apocalyptic plans. It's about time they learn a thing or two about what it's like to really _live_."

God pulled away, and Dean felt empty at the loss of touch. God's eyes were soft, a brilliant turquoise now.

"Now, I think it's about time you got back to your own angel."

"Wait." Dean held up a hand, quickly. _Not yet._ "Do me one thing. _One_ favour and that's all I'm going to ask from you."

"Anything_._"

The weight of those words was heavy, and for a moment Dean briefly thought of asking for everyone back, John and Mary Winchester, all the friends they had lost over the years, all the victims.

"Talk to Cas." He blurted. "He believed in you for so long and searched everywhere. He had faith in you even when I didn't. He…he deserves that at least."

God nodded, eyes bright as He smiled. In all of his wildest dreams, Dean had never thought he'd be having this conversation. With God. Who was…everything a God should be, even if Dean was too human to really understand it. _I'm love, Dean. _

"I will."

"Will…will I remember this?" Dean asked.

God's eyes were sad, and Dean felt a sudden surge of love for Him, for this _incomprehensible_ being.

"For a little while. Soon though you'll look back on this as if it were a dream. That's simply the way it has to be."

Dean could only imagine how lonely it must be. To love everyone that had ever existed; to experience every moment through the eyes of billions of people, good and bad. To love something _so much_ without prejudice, despite the flaws, despite the atrocities that could be committed and for no-one to truly understand enough of what you are to love you back the same all-consuming way.

To put it simply, it must suck to be God.

"I don't want to forget." Dean said stubbornly, frowning.

God laughed, and the sound soared out over the chasm, drowning out the creatures below.

"I know. But remember Dean, I'm always with you. And one day, when you are old and warm in your bed, surrounded by your loved ones, you will see me in this form again. Until then, have faith."

He opened His arms, and without thinking Dean stepped into them, wrapping his arms under the strong joints of His wings. Dean buried his face in the crook of His neck as God held him; those huge wings curling forward to wrap around him. Feathers trailed against his hair and Dean turned his face into the touch; relishing the softness.

God pulled away, holding Dean at arm's length, as He leant forward to softly kiss the hunter's forehead.

Dean hadn't even been aware that he was crying. Hot trails of salt tracked down his cheeks and Dean reached out blindly, wanting to touch, to comfort, to _love_.

"Go in peace my son, and know that you are loved. _Always_." God whispered against his brow.

Dean felt a strange tugging sensation and colors burst in front of his eyes, before everything went black.

…..

**A/N: **Ok so, this was so much fun to write. Hopefully no-one was offended, this is after all my own personal interpretation of God, and also how I envisioned him in the Supernatural verse. I always believed Chuck to be a Prophet, not God, but it's also a fun interpretation if you think he was. Chuck would be a pretty awesome God! (free booze and toilet paper for everyone! Yaaaay!) I capitalized He or Him every time I was referring to God because that's simply how it's done in the Bible/religious texts, kind of a way of showing respect I guess. It's a religious thing.

One more chapter to go! :D


	16. Chapter 16

**Title**: The Walking Supernatural (16/16)  
**Author**: daksgirl  
**Rating**: Teen

**Pairings: **Dean/Castiel, some hints of Bobby/Crowley sort of….shhh  
**Genre**: Zombies! Crossover fic of Supernatural meets the Walking Dead.  
**Spoilers:** None!  
**Warnings**: some coarse language, but apart from that…too much fluff? :P

**Word Count**: 3,720

**Summary:** In which there may be a happy ending.

A/N at the end of the chapter!

…

"_Dean!"_

"_Oh god…Cas is he…"_

"_DEAN!"_

"_No please…please Dean…"_

His body felt heavy, aching and limp as he sluggishly struggled back into wakefulness. Felt like he'd done a round with a werewolf or two. _Maybe five._

Hands clutched his back, hugging him against a shuddering body, someone's lips pressed to his forehead that gasped his name as they rocked back and forth. Something scuffed nearby, another voice joining the first. A shaking hand grabbed his own, fingers curling through his.

He recognized that voice.

_Sam._

"Goddamit, Dean." His little brother's voice was cracking. "_Fuck._"

The lips left him, and he felt his head tip back as a face buried itself in his neck. He could feel wetness against his throat, hair ticking his nose accompanied with a familiar presence.

_Cas._

He struggled to open his eyes, to move, to do _anything._ Anything to stop those awful sobs. For a moment, he panicked, thinking he was paralyzed.

Then, slowly, warmth spread through his limbs.

With a deep shuddering gasp, Dean Winchester opened his eyes.

…

Daryl winced at the bright rays of sunlight as he stumbled outside. The complex was a mess; dead bodies littered the ground, their eyes now blank and empty, the threat of walkers over.

Bobby limped through the ruined doorway; Crowley's arm slung over his shoulder, the old man struggling to help the bleeding demon. Daryl hurried back to help, throwing the demon's other arm over his own shoulders. Bobby shot him a thankful smile.

The hellhound leant against the old man's other side, and Daryl couldn't stop staring at it. It was huge, its head coming up somewhere around Bobby's chest, its back at waist level. It had the proportions of a dog, thick legs and chest with a leaner body, but its bloody fur was a midnight black unlike any breed of dog Daryl had ever seen.

Kinda looked like one hell of a huge mutant wolf. Along its back were a series of strange ridges of bone; almost like quills. Its head was large, long wicked looking fangs protruding from a long muzzle, with fiery amber eyes.

It was fucking terrifying, and everyone had started a bit at the fact that the usual invisible monster was now somehow…visible.

No-one really knew what had happened. They had all seen Dean throw himself into the rift; bleeding and dying. There had been a blinding flash of light, the room shaking with a dull roar and everyone had dropped to the floor.

The next thing he knew, they had heard Castiel screaming; running towards the still shape of Dean on the floor. Every walker in the room was dead, lying motionlessly on the floor. Dean wasn't bleeding, there were no bite marks though they all knew for a fact he had been bitten.

Sam swore he had checked his brother for a pulse and found none. Daryl wasn't sure who was more surprised when Dean had opened his eyes with a gasp, Sam or Dean himself. Daryl didn't really care what had happened.

What was important was they had done it, they had saved the world, and Dean was _alive_.

Just as the group had finished hugging and celebrating Dean's sudden entrance back to the land of the living, Andrea had shot up with a loud yell, eyes wide. She scared the living daylights out of Dale who had been crouched at her side, tears tracking down his cragged face. He had been holding her ruined body to him, but stumbled back as she came to life, landing hard on his ass as he gawped at the bloody blonde.

Now Daryl hadn't ever really considered himself a religious man, but that had been a goddamn miracle. He had _seen_ the blonde die, and now there she was, alive and breathing.

They had managed to make their way back to the surface, picking their way past the corpses in the hallways. Now the group paused, all staring out across the ruins of the complex.

"I don't know about you guys, but I think I could sleep for a week." Dean muttered.

Castiel was pressed against his side, insisting on helping the hunter outside, even though Dean had protested he was fine. Sam was on the other side of his brother, hand touching Dean's arm as if to reassure himself Dean was really alive and ok.

Bobby sighed, turning a happy smile towards his surrogate son.

"Shit, I plan on sleeping for a _year_. I might never leave my bed again." He grinned.

There was a weak chuckle from Crowley, and Bobby hefted the demon more firmly against him.

"H…hope your bed….fits the…two of us…_Darling_."

Daryl hid a smile as Bobby cast his eyes to the heavens in exasperation.

"Even all messed up and half dead, you're still annoying." He muttered. "Now shut up or I'll rethink 'bout helpin' ya back to the motel!"

No-one missed the affectionate wink Bobby shot at the worried hellhound at his side. Crowley would be fine once he healed, and the old hunter would see to that.

Daryl grinned, looking back towards the abandoned RV. He froze, causing Bobby to pull up short, Crowley grunting between them.

"What's wrong now?" Bobby frowned, and Daryl nodded towards the RV.

"We got company." He said grimly.

A group of strangers were approaching. Daryl didn't recognize any of them, but Castiel seemed to, judging by the drawn in gasp the angel uttered, eyes wide.

A short man walked in front, a huge cocky grin on his face. Like the others following him, he wore a white tunic and white pants; all of them barefoot as they picked their way through the decaying corpses littering the ground. He spread his arms as he approached, stopping a few yards from the shell-shocked group.

"Guess I missed the party huh?" He winked at the two speechless Winchesters. "Knew you two idiots would save the day. Eventually."

Castiel took a step forward, leaving Dean's side. The angel looked wrecked, eyes bright and disbelieving.

"Gabriel?" He whispered.

The short man shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. "Hey bro. Better late than never huh?"

A stern looking black woman had halted beside him, nodding her head towards Castiel. She looked intimidating, her eyes sharp and body held in a rigid line.

"Castiel." She said tightly. "It is….good to see you."

Castiel nodded dumbly towards her. "Raphael."

Another man stepped forward, walking towards the angel. He was tall, with sandy blonde hair and sad brown eyes.

Castiel just watched him approach, not stopping him when the man reached him. They stared at each other for a moment, the others silent as they watched the two.

"Castiel." The man said quietly, voice laden with something heavy Daryl didn't understand. He reached out a hand, resting it on the angel's shoulder, and Castiel smiled.

"Michael." He murmured.

Dale eyed the newcomers with wary eyes, Andrea safely tucked against his side.

"Not to ruin the moment but…who _are_ you people?" He asked bewilderedly.

The short man grinned at them all, arms spread wide.

"We're angels. And we're here to stay."

Daryl watched in amazement as slowly, wings unfolded from the man's back.

They were large; a mottled brown and white that reminded Daryl a bit like the old barn owls that used to roost in the trees back home. Slowly, one by one, wings unfurled from each person in front of the shell-shocked group.

…..

Castiel couldn't fully express the sheer joy that soared through him at the sight of his brothers and sisters.

He could feel the ripple of power as Gabriel revealed his wings, and marveled that they could do such a thing now. He felt…_different._ He could feel the distant thrum of heaven, newly restored, and he wondered how such a miracle had occurred.

Dean said he couldn't remember what had happened after he had thrown himself into the rift. The ritual had obviously worked because of Dean's sacrifice, but…how were the angels here? Heaven?

Michael had always had the most beautiful wings, and Castiel felt full of breathless awe as the archangel slowly spread them; the shimmering gold catching the light. Castiel had always admired them; as a fledgling he had yearned to run his fingers through them and chase the gleaming gold tendrils.

Now Michael fanned them proudly in font of him, eyes soft and affectionate.

"You saved us all little brother." He murmured. "You and the Winchesters."

There was a gurgled cough off to the side as Crowley glared over at the angel.

"A…a little recognition for the…d…demon please." Crowley grunted. Bobby hissed something at him; sure the demon was going to get himself smote.

Instead, Michael merely smiled amusedly. He turned to look at the demon, eyes lingering over the hellhound that growled at him warningly.

"Of course. Without you, the world would have been doomed."

Much to the surprise of everyone collected, the archangel sank to one knee, bowing his head with respect.

"Long may you reign in hell demon. Perhaps under your guidance, even hell will benefit in this strange new world."

Raphael looked like she was about to burst into flames with rage as Michael cast a glance behind him at the other angels.

"Show your respect to the King of Hell!" Michael said firmly.

With a mischievous grin and an elbow to Raphael's side, Gabriel dropped to one knee.

"You heard the man Raph. All hail King Crowley!" He shouted teasingly. Every angel behind him collectively fell to their knees as well, bowing their heads.

Crowley could only stare bewilderedly around in front of him as Bobby struggled to contain a laugh.

"Right…uh…thanks." The demon managed weakly.

The angels rose to their feet again, wings stirring. Michael turned back to Castiel, smiling.

"We have been sent to Earth to live amongst mortals Castiel. With the exception of some powers, we will live life as mortals do. I'm afraid though, we are unsure where to begin. We look to you to help us."

Castiel found himself speechless. The angels watched him, and he could only stare back dumbly, unsure where to even begin. _Me? But why…I rebelled, I disobeyed…_

Gabriel smiled kindly at him.

"Turns out kiddo, you were right all along. We've been doing things all wrong, and Dad thinks we could use some…re-education."

Castiel felt like his heart might burst. _Father? Is this your doing?_ He turned to look at Dean. Beautiful, alive Dean. He had seen him die, yet here he was, perfect and whole. A miracle.

_Father, if you can hear me…thank you. _

Castiel turned back to the waiting angels. He could feel his wings, rustling and impatient to stretch, and he gloried in it after a week of being unable to feel them. He spread them wide, relishing the freedom as his wings unfurled and fanned. The cool air felt good sliding against his feathers, and he gave them an experimental flap. They felt stronger somehow, more powerful.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Dean, and for a moment Castiel paused, self-conscious. His wings had never been as beautiful as the others. He had often found them rather plain in fact, a mottled boring grey. His descent into hell had scarred them, leaving the edges a singed black and for a while he had been ashamed to reveal them to anyone, even his own garrison.

Michael's eyes were joyous however as the archangel watched them, Gabriel's face split in two with a wide grin; even Raphael looked impressed, her own white wings twitching with barely concealed envy.

Curiously, Castiel turned his head. _What are they looking at-_

An archangel's wings arched behind him.

They were a beautiful glossy black, and for a moment Castiel was reminded of how Lucifer's wings had looked before he fell. Tendrils of silver raced between his feathers, beautiful shimmering lines that shifted as he did.

Castiel could only stare at them mutely, before there was a hand squeezing his arm lightly. Castiel turned to find Dean looking at him, green eyes warm and beautiful. The hunter was smiling, open and genuine.

"Come on, Cas. How about we go home yeah?" He glanced over at Michael. "_All_ of us."

Castiel blinked at him.

"Dean, I-" He wasn't even sure what he was going to say. _I thought I lost you, I love you, will you stay with me…. _Would the hunter even want him now the world was out of danger?

Dean's eyes darkened slightly, as if he knew what the angel was thinking.

"Cas, I'm not good at this stuff, you know that. But I meant what I said. I love you."

Uncaring of the gawping onlookers, Dean leant in to kiss the angel softly.

There was a flicker of uncertainty as the hunter pulled away. "That is…if you still want me." His words were light, but Castiel could sense the fear beneath them.

Throwing propriety out of the window, Castiel grabbed Dean by the lapel of his jacket, tugging the hunter closer, wings arching above them fiercely.

"Dean Winchester, I love you. I will want you _forever_." He growled. "And even beyond that."

…..

Later, once a red-faced Dean had finally pulled away from the epic kissing session Castiel had decided to initiate, _in front of a group of goddamn angels I might add_, Dean was genuinely worried that Sam would burst into tears, judging by the sniffles and happy expressions the giant girl kept throwing at him and Cas. Even Bobby looked a little wet around the eyes as he struggled to look anywhere but at Dean, blinking furiously.

Daryl merely clapped a hand on his back, smiling widely, whilst Crowley muttered something about "turning soft".

All-in-all Dean felt pretty damn good.

It was about time for that damn vacation.

…

_A few weeks later_

The air was starting to get a little cooler, but was still t-shirt weather, and Dean sprawled loosely against the porch steps, head tilted back to enjoy the sun. Castiel was perched on the top step, knees framing Dean's ribcage as the hunter leaned back into him, fingers playing along Dean's scalp curiously.

Growly lay in the dirt at the bottom of the steps, massive head on his paws as he watched Bobby working out in the sun. Bobby's house had suffered a lot of damage from the walkers trying to get in. Once they had managed to burn all the corpses lying around, they had set on making the house livable again.

Currently Bobby was trying to fix a window, and the hellhound watched him protectively, large tail thumping lazily against the wooden steps. Daryl rounded the side of the house; a group of wooden slats grasped under one arm. He clucked at the hellhound as he walked by, and Growly woofed in response.

Dean sighed happily, stretching his legs.

"You're quiet today Cas." He stretched out his bare foot, scratching the hellhound's back with his toes. "Somethin' on your mind?"

The angel paused, and Dean turned his head to look up at him curiously.

Castiel was smiling, his eyes soft and distant.

"I had a dream last night." He said simply.

Dean ran a hand up the angel's shin, massaging small circles against the denim. "Yeah?"

The angel glanced down at him. "Something tells me you already know about it."

Something flitted through his mind; beautiful wings, an affectionate laugh, shifting eyes of alternate colors and a huge expanse of desert.

"Yeah. I think I do." He said quietly.

Castiel gave a contented sigh. "I am very happy."

Dean's response was cut off as the porch door slammed open; bouncing off the wall with a loud bang. Sam strode out, all gesturing arms and jerky strides.

"That's it! I quit!" He yelled, stomping down the porch stairs, narrowly avoiding Growly. The hellhound merely watched him boredly as he strode out into the junkyard.

"Oh my dad, you are_ such_ a whiney bitch Samantha!" With a clatter, Gabriel was on the porch, storming after the tall Winchester with a quick nod to the two on the stairs. "I told you, it was an accident. I don't have all my powers you know, not _every_ mishap is automatically my fault."

Sam had whirled around, hands planted on his hips as he glared at the smaller man.

"I am not a whiney bitch! You're the dick who turned my bed into a freaking LAMA. A very _pissed off _lama may I add."

"It was an alpaca actually, and come on, he was just surprised…"

Sam's voice was reaching octaves only dolphins could hear, and Dean looked at Castiel beseechingly. The angel rolled his eyes.

"_Gabriel_." Castiel reprimanded.

The archangel turned around, shoulders hunched in an _I-didn't-do-it_ gesture, eyes wide and innocent.

"What? It's not like I _meant_ to. I sent it back! This whole adapting to mortality thing is new to me!"

For the past few weeks Bobby's house had been a temporary angel rehabilitation center. Angels kept appearing, finding their way towards Bobby's once word had spread that Castiel was there.

Dale and Andrea had set back out with the RV; headed back to meet up with Rick and the others. Two angels had gone with them; Rachel and Balthazar. Other angels went off in search of survivors, to offer their help.

Michael and Raphael had taken it upon themselves to keep an eye on the supernatural population. Raphael was too anti-social to particularly enjoy the company of humans, but she enjoyed killing things, so it was right up her alley. Michael searched for survivors in trouble, helping where he could and reporting back to the Winchesters if there was something he couldn't deal with.

The angels' powers were greatly reduced since coming to earth. They could fly, but only for a certain amount of time before growing tired. They needed sleep and needed to eat, amongst other mortal things, of which Gabriel had taken to quite happily. They could still heal, but the power to resurrect the dead was lost to them. Still, an angel was a huge asset to have on a hunt.

Sam and Daryl frequently went out on smaller hunts when Michael reported something; Gabriel always going along with the two. Dean was content to leave his brother to it. Sometimes another hunt would crop up and he and Cas would take care of it, but mostly, the hunter was happy to stay put at Bobby's.

There was a happy bark from Growly, and the hellhound's tail increased in tempo as Crowley appeared.

Dean felt like he should be a lot more concerned that the king of hell and essentially, _the new devil_, kept appearing at the house, but found himself pretty unphased.

"Hell boring you?" Castiel asked, smirking slightly as the demon walked over to the two. The demon leant down; scratching the hellhound's ears as he leant one hip against the porch railing.

"Shut up. Have to make sure you idiots aren't gettin' yourselves in trouble up here." He glanced over at Gabriel and Sam bickering in the yard. "Seems I'm too late. Alas, cruel world."

Crowley winked at the two, moving away towards where Bobby and Daryl were working.

Bobby merely glanced at him briefly before shoving a plank of wood into his hands, ordering the demon to stop gawking and help.

Dean and Castiel shared a mutual smile.

There was the sound of flapping wings, and Michael appeared, his wings disappearing from sight as he approached the two on the porch. The angel still made Dean uneasy; call him silly for holding a grudge, but he couldn't quite forget that at one point in time he was Michael's intended vessel.

Sam and Gabriel stopped their bickering as they noticed the archangel, hurrying over and shoving each other.

Michael nodded to Dean, pausing next to a rumbling Growly. "Raphael and I have located a group of survivors in Wisconsin. They are having some difficulties with a pack of Adlet."

Dean smiled, looking over at his brother. "Think you can handle this one Sammy?"

Sam huffed. "I should think so. Daryl and I will head out in the morning."

Castiel winked at Dean secretively. "I believe it would be safest to take Gabriel with you."

That sparked off another round of bickering as the other three looked amusedly on.

"Oh, _hell_ no."

"Come on Sammy-boy! It'll be fun."

"Nothing is ever _fun_ with you around."

"That _wounds_ me Samuel, really."

Daryl straightened from where he had been repairing a board, glancing over amusedly at the two bickering.

"Maybe I should just go on my own." He drawled. Bobby snorted, taking a board from Crowley and hammering it into place.

"You'd probably get more work done that way son." He agreed.

The two had taken a liking to each other, Bobby taking the man under his wing and teaching him the ropes of hunting. Daryl had excelled at it easily, putting even Dean to shame. It was a different world now, but not necessarily a bad one. Crowley kept most of the demons under control whilst humanity tried to get to its feet, but the monsters were starting to come out of hiding.

It seemed the Winchesters would be needed for a while longer yet.

Sam and Gabriel moved off towards Daryl, still arguing. With a shake of his head, Michael was gone.

Castiel breathed in deeply, fingers resuming their gentle exploration of Dean's scalp.

"So what now, Dean?" He asked quietly. "What do we do?"

Dean paused, listening to the sounds of Bobby yelling at Gabriel to leave his work alone; Daryl's laugh as Sam screeched something girly as the angel sulkily turned his attention back to him; Crowley's long-suffering sigh and the steady happy thumping of a hellhound's tail against sun-warmed wooden slats.

"We live, Cas." Dean grinned, turning his face towards the angel's. "We live."

**_Fin._**

_...  
_

**A/N: **It's over! *cries sadly* I had so much fun writing this guys, this was a great first foray into writing, and I can't thank you enough for reading and leaving me feedback, I LOVE YOU ALL.

I do have some ideas for a potential sequel, but not sure. Would you guys be interested in a sequel? What would you like to see pairings/plot/genre/creatures wise? Let me know!

I also plan to illustrate this story (once I get my tablet for Christmas and figure out Photoshop LOL) which I'll probably post on LJ/Tumblr/Deviant art or whatever so keep an eye on my profile :)

Anyways, thank you again! Seriously you are all awesome. Especially YOU. Yes, you. You, reading this right now. You rock. Come to my bosom and let me love you.


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